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A Thrilling Romance of the St. Louis Cyclone 


The Pastime Sekies— Issued Monthly. $3.00 per annum. No. 42. 

Entered at Chicago Postofflce as second-class matter. 


Chicago: LAIRD & LEE, Publishers 263 Wabash Ave, 






























X 

















# 


* 


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1 




* 










A THRILLING ROMANCE OF THE ST. LOUIS CYCLONE. 


T!1E EATEEUL HAND 

OR 

SAVED BY LIGHTNING 


BY 


DR. N. T. OLIVER 


Author of “An Unconscious Crime,” “The Confession of Lorraine 
Herschell,” etc. 




O, what a flashing, and cracking, and splashing, 
The*eartJ* is rocking, the skies are riven — 

v — Robert Buchanan. 

y 





CHICAGO : 

Laird & Lee, Publishers. 

1896 


*o M "' 8 '»r .A 

" •; Jill 80189* , . . 

*/ £* f ^ 



Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1896, by 

WM. H. LEE, 


in the office of the Librarian of Congress, 
at Washington. 


CHAPTER I. 

MR. EDWARD LESLIE, CIVIL ENGINEER TO DR. HUGO LATI- 
MER, SPECIALIST IN DISEASES OF THE BRAIN. 

Georgetown, Colorado, April 16th, 1896. 

Dear old boy: It may afford your intense ego- 
tism some gratification to learn that you have come 
very near being a true prophet. It affords me per- 
sonal pleasure to state that you did not arrive at that 
distinction, really; sufficient honor is already yours, 
and I know you will be satisfied with what has already 
been gained, when you take into consideration that 
the fulfillment of your prophecy must have resulted in 
my being brought to St. Louis in a mangled condi- 
tion, or (what would have been worse for my future 
prospects) in a carefully sealed casket. You may 
not recall your prophecy at this time, but if you will 
kindly go back to the morning when you bade me 
godspeed at the Union depot, and when you saw 
my brand new bicycle loaded into the baggage car 
of the train which was to bear me westward, it is pos- 
sible that one of the memory cells of your obedient 


7 


THE FATEFUL HAND. 


brain will disgorge the words you then gave utter- 
ance to: “Ned, you’ll break your neck on that ma- 
chine. It would not surprise me a particle to see 
you brought home, either mangled beyond recogni- 
tion, or stretched cold 'but beautiful,’ in your casket, 
and in all love, but realizing the demand for truth on 
all occasions, I don’t know but what it would be your 
just dues; for any man who proposes such a fool- 
hardy experiment as riding a machine which depends 
on proper balance for safety, up and among the moun- 
tains of Colorado, where the roads are not calculat- 
ed for cycling purposes, is surely taking chances of 
a pronounced character, and with the chances, a fair 
prospect of an early and abrupt departure from this 
vale of tears. You’ll break your neck. See if you 
don’t.” 

Well, dear boy, I have come very near it. I re- 
member laughing at your prediction as I clasped 
your hand at parting, and gave myself no uneasiness 
over your words. The twitch of your lips, conceal- 
ing a smile in their corners, as you concluded your 
dire prognostication, convinced me that, although 
you heartily censured my (to your mind) unwise ac- 
tion, in trying to combine civil engineering with bi- 
cycling; still you felt rather more than half way per- 
suaded that my guardian angel would exercise a care 
over my life and fortunes, and that I would return 


THE FATEFUL HAND. 


9 


again to your fellowship and hospitality, “right side 
up with care,” and this, I am thankful to say, I am 
in a position and condition to do. But you came 
very near telling the truth. I shudder when I con- 
sider how near. To relieve your mind, and to come 
right down to business, I will relate the circumstance 
and all that followed it. 

The morning following my arrival here, after 
making some inquiries concerning the party who 
are making the survey for the road which is 
to connect certain important mining points, which 
party I came to join and take charge of, I took 
my wheel and such articles as I deemed necessary on 
my trip, and started out to find it. I did not succeed 
in my undertaking. To philosophize, how often we 
start on a journey in life with hearts full of hope and 
minds filled with determination, and find, where least 
expected, a stumbling stone, over which we fall, and 
which introduces a change into our plans for the fu- 
ture, that we never would have dreamed of, even in 
the fevered delirium of the opium smoker’s visions. 
Such is literally the case in my own experience. The 
morning sun was as bright as I ever saw the sun be- 
fore. The sky was as blue and clear as it is possible 
for it to be. My mind was fixed with the determina- 
tion to reach my party in time for the noonday meal. 
My heart was light and free from care or thought of 


10 


THE FATEFUL HAND. 


trouble, and as I grasped the handle bar of my well- 
built wheel, and sprang into the saddle, I bravely 
pressed the pedals and rolled swiftly out into the 
morning, thrilled with the exhilarating influence of 
self-confidence and the bracing air of the mountains. 

The mountain path was fairly good. It called 
for some exertion at times to push up the inclines, 
but the exhilaration of coasting down the other side — 
and the opportunities came often — made up for the 
task of climbing. 

I will admit, in view of what “happened,” that it is 
not wise to coast down a mountain path, more espe- 
cially an unknown mountain path; however, we in- 
dulge in many unwise experiments in life; we do 
not often pause to think of what “might be” in the 
enjoyment of the pleasure “that is.” Such was my 
experience. I did not act wisely, and the result was 
that, in the rapid descent of a rather steep declivity, 
my wheel struck a stone, a large one, and the next 
moment I found myself launched into space, and it 
is only owing to a combination of fortunate circum- 
stances that I am now permitted to write this com- 
munication, telling you “how it happened.” It might 
be well to inform you at this juncture, that the path 
along which I was making my way was about five 
feet wide, that on my left was a magnificent canon 
of uncertain depth, and that, when my rubber-shod 


THE FATEFUL HAND. 


ii 


steed found the “stumbling stone,” I was cast head 
first over the edge of the path, into the canon! 

That I did not reach the bottom, you can naturally 
infer from the fact that I am now in the land of the 
living; that I failed to do so is due to the providential 
circumstance of a clump of sturdy bushes or small 
trees, which were growing some fifteen feet from the 
top of the canon. 

Among these bushes I landed with sufficient force 
to drive the air from my lungs and bruise me some- 
what; but, bless you, I never thought of the bruises. 
I was rather pleased to be the recipient of them, con- 
sidering how much worse it might have been. 

I can assure you, dear boy, I felt grateful to that 
unassuming clump of mountain shrubbery, for, look- 
ing down into the depths, I must admit, my nervous 
system set up a tremor, productive of what are usually 
termed “cold chills,” and they coursed up and down 
my spine at a rate never before experienced by me. 

Think of it! Fully a thousand feet below, jagged 
rocks reared their cruel points to the sunlit sky. 
Fancy, if you can, one of my avoirdupois coming into 
contact with them, and at an accelerated speed as well! 
Truly, my neck would have been broken, and my con- 
tour sadly marred, if I had gone through, as I had 
bravely begun. I am persuaded that “mangled re- 
mains” are scarcely the words to be employed in de- 


12 


THE FATEFUL HAND. 


scribing what “might have been/’ I have some doubt 
as to whether there would have been any remains! 
Ugh! It is uncomfortable to think of. It was un- 
pleasant to contemplate from my point of observation ; 
so I ceased to gaze downward, and after assuring my- 
self of the certainty of my life-preserving friends being 
of sufficient strength to bear me up until relief should 
come, I turned my eyes upon the sky. 

I suppose you have often heard the expression 
made use of, “Troubles never come singly.” (I use a 
capital “T” in trouble, I consider it worthy of respect.) 
Pessimistic, say you? Well, there are times in the 
life of man when he is justified in being pessi- 
mistic, and this day was “the” time in my hither- 
to uneventful existence; for my change of ob- 
servation from loooking downward upon what 
“might have been” to upward, forcibly impressed 
me with what I might with reasonable certainty ex- 
pect — a storm of severe proportions. For, hurrying 
over the tops of the mountain peaks, my eyes caught 
the edge of a cloud of that intense blackness which is 
the precursor of rain and the electrical display which ac- 
companies storms in the month of April. Surely, any- 
thing but a delightful prospect; bad enough when on 
solid earth, with a well made Mackintosh to protect 
the person, and an umbrella to shed the water, and keep 
the head and shoulders dry; but, roosting like some 


THE FATEFUL HAND. 


13 


huge bird, in the crotch of a mountain tree, the pros- 
pect was not an inviting one, not only from the fact 
of being drenched, but from the fear that the descend- 
ing volumes might, in some way, loosen the roots 
of my place of security, and hurl me to death, a thou- 
sand feet below. 

To express it in plain terms, Hugo, I was 
frightened! With startling rapidity, the storm- 
cloud spread over the patch of blue above my head, 
ominous, greenish black, hateful and fearful. The 
sun was overpowered; his light shut out from my gaze. 
To my ear came the sound of muttering thunder, roll- 
ing and reverberating back among the crags. Across 
the face of the inky pall flashed a streak of forked light; 
in the distance could be heard the whirr of a gather- 
ing tempest. ' Semi-darkness spread around and about 
me; the rising wind tore its way along the canon, in- 
creasing in power, twisting and turning, bending and 
bearing down the slender limbs of the wiry saplings 
that bore me up in their arms, above the chasm of 
death. Oh, the horror of that moment! And then 
the deluge ! In sheets of grayish white, glittering here 
and there with streaks of silver, the torrent from the 
skies descended; the roar of the artillery of the heav- 
ens crashed and broke upon my affrighted senses, the 
vivid darting of the many tongued lightning, ever 
and anon, lighting up the fearful scene. Terrified, yet 


14 THE FATEFUL HAND. 

fascinated, I gazed down into the depths and saw 
carried by the fury of the elements small trees, bould- 
ers, and showers of smaller stones. Surely my house, 
of refuge could not stand much longer. To my ex- 
cited and terrorized fancy the roots, fastened among 
the rocks, were giving way. I breathed a prayer and 
prepared to meet my Maker! Ah, Hugo, there are 
times when man is brought to realize the awful power 
of a Great Ruler. In the sunshine and peace of a 
happy, prosperous existence, we do not give these 
things much thought, but in the danger and presence 
of Almighty power, the eyes are forced above the 
'things of earth, and the heart accepts the existence 
of something higher, behind the clouds. I prayed, 
Hugo ! prayed to be saved from an awful death, prayed 
to be ready to meet it, and then — closed my eyes! It 
seems to me, as I look back upon that scene, that I 
must have fallen intp a state of semi-unconsciousness ; 
I cannot recall the lapse of time. I kqow the storm 
continued with unabated fury. I know my friendly 
bushes held fast to their rocky base. I know that 
I was dumbly waiting for something — death, perhaps 
—when out upon the air, above the roar and fury of 
the storm, sounded a shriek of such piercing intensity, 
a scream of such diabolical rage, or terror (it is beyond 
classification), that my eyes sprung open, and became 
directed upward to the edge of the cliff, fifteen feet 


THE FATEFUL HAND, 


15 


or so above my head, and there, Hugo, I beheld a 
sight which, God helping me, I never wish to see 
again, and, although the succeeding circumstances 
brought me out of danger, yet the memory of the first 
glance upward to the edge of that cliff will always 
bring to my heart a sickening sensation of horror. 


CHAPTER II. 




THE EVENTS OF AN EVENTFUL DAY. 

I was obliged to break in upon my narrative (for it 
is really more of one than a letter) to attend to the 
pressing needs of my patient, for I am doing some 
“doctoring,” old boy; in all probabilities, not as scien- 
tifically as my well beloved and highly esteemed col- 
lege chum and heart friend, Hugo Latimer, but as 
well as can be expected of one who possesses a smat- 
tering of materia medica. 

I will not anticipate, however, but continue my 
epistle, taking up the thread where I left off, and 
making an effort to bring this already too lengthy 
communications directed to men of business — the 
again, and if I do, I shall certainly expect you to read 
my letter, therefore it will not do to make this, my first 
one, too long, or you will dread the arrival of others, 
and, perhaps in the rush of your professional obliga- 
tions consign my efforts to the grave of long-winded 
communication directed to men of business — the 
\vaste-paper basket. 


16 


THE FATEFUL HAND. 


17 


I hope not; perhaps not; but really, although you 
are my friend, I do not think it fair to impose upon 
friendship. To continue my narrative: Forced by the 
piercing intensity of a most unnatural shriek to fasten 
my eyes upon the spot from whence it proceeded, I 
saw with horror, the streaming hair of a woman, 
sweeping over the edge of the cliff, while immediately 
above, in the half light of the storm, was revealed the 
face of a fiend! 

A hatless man, with features convulsed in hideous 
contortions of diabolical rage, eyes that shone with 
• maniacal fury, plainly distinguishable, even in the 
darkened state of the surroundings; lips working and 
writhing (I can find no better word to express my 
meaning), and as I stared in terror, opening to give 
vent to a repetition of those awful cries that had first 
attracted my attention. 

At that moment the skies became brightened by a 
lurid flash of electricity, and made plain to me the fact 
that this frenzied creature upon the cliff was endeavor- 
ing to force the form of a prostrate woman over the 
edge to destruction. 

I could see the head and shoulders of the woman. 
She was upon her back, her long hair streaming and 
whipping in the gale. I could see the upper part of 
the man; his awful face, his shoulders and arms en- 
deavoring to accomplish their deadly work. For a 
2 


i8 


THE FATEFUL HAND. 


moment only I stared with eyes, I know, distended, 
and with a sickening anticipation of the moment when 
the demon would accomplish his end, and then, with- 
out any satisfactory reason, save in the hope to deter 
him, I raised my voice in a shout, that sounded weak 
and lacking in volume to me, but which must have 
reached him, for he paused, turned his head to the 
right and then to the left, as in an endeavor to learn 
from whence came the sound, then he disappeared, 
and I knew he had risen to his feet. The thunder 
tones grew fainter, the storm was passing, the clouds 
broke here and there, and the sun again lit up the 
face of nature, now drenched and marked by the evi- 
dence of the storm-king’s presence. 

In the light of the sun I saw that the hair, which 
hung in luxuriant though damp profusion over the 
edge of the cliff, was of extraordinary length, and 
of unusual blackness. The wind, having gone down, 
the magnificent mass lay still and heavy, dripping from 
the ends the water that had so recently poured upon 
its rich beauty, and she, the possessor of all this 
wealth of womanly splendor, lay still and motionless, 
as in the unconsciousness of death — possibly the un- 
consciousness of a faint. A fear came upon me that 
she was dead, that he, the fiend, striving to accomp- 
lish her destruction, had succeeded. Possibly with the 
strong fingers of a frenzied purpose had choked off the 


THE FATEFUL HAND. 


19 


breath rising from the swelling lungs, and left his 
victim with a dead, upturned face to the sky of the 
glowing noonday. Surely she would give some evi- 
dence of life if life still possessed her. She would 
not lie so still, in such a dangerous position, if it were 
in her power to move. I grew alarmed, as time 
passed and she stirred not. My first impression that 
she had fainted in a struggle for life gave way to the 
certainty that life no longer had place within her, 
and, with a growing feeling of dread, I looked for the 
return of him who had done the foul work; to com- 
plete what he had begun, and would have finished but 
for my cry — the casting of her body into the awful 
depths of the canon. 

But he did not return, nor did the inanimate form 
above me move. 

Oh, for some means to reach her! My own peril- 
ous position was forgotten in a stress of anxiety. I 
thought only of some way to succor her, who lay, 
the sun beating upon her upturned features, on the 
face of the narrow path above me. 

I searched eagerly the rocky wall before me, look- 
ing for a chance foothold, some means, any way, to 
clamber up, but the slippery, shining rock mocked me. 
I was powerless to aid either her or myself. Then 
I shouted! How strange my voice sounded, echoing 
back from the walls of my vast, though narrow prison 


20 


THE FATEFUL HAND. 


house. Again and yet again I raised the mocking 
sounds, despairing, as no evidence of my being heard 
became apparent. To add to my growing despair, 
I felt myself growing weaker. My limbs were becom- 
ing cramped and stiffened from the uncomfortable po- 
sition I had occupied so long. I realized that I could 
not hold it much longer; wearied nature would refuse 
to perform duties so laborious. I would lo x se my hold 
on the branches of the sturdy little bush, and then 
— darkness, and a crushed, bleeding corpse at the 
bottom. 

Ah, dear Hugo, I suffered, but in the midst of 
suffering came welcome relief, and from a source not 
expected. Impressed with the certainty of an early 
death, I gave forth one more loud cry, looking straight 
across to the opposite wall of the canon, and then, 
before the echoes had died away, I heard a faint voice 
say — a feeble, womanly voice: 

“What — who calls? — Help!” the last word in a tone 
of pitiful entreaty. I looked above me, and saw only 
the bare face of the rocky wall. The woman was not 
dead. She had recovered consciousness, and drawn 
back from her perilous position. 

“God be thanked,” I cried, involuntarily, and raised 
again a shout to attract her attention, believing her to 
be upon the ledge above. And so it proved, for in 
a moment, a fear-drawn, pale, but wondrously beau- 


THE FATEFUL HAND. 


21 


tiful face looked down upon me ; the face of a girl, not 
over the line of eighteen summers, a face, lit up by 
eyes that looked into my heart that moment, and 
burned with their fire the word I had never known 
for woman before, the word which possesses all the 
brightness there is in the world — Love! 

“Pah!” you will say, dear boy Hugo. “Stuff and 
nonsense ! A man at death’s door, impressed with pas- 
sion at the sight of a woman’s face, surrounded by 
wet, clinging hair, and drawn, by suffering and fear, 
far from its beautiful outlines. I don’t believe it, Ned,” 
you will say; but, old fellow, I am the man with the 
experience. It is my experience I am relating. Sure- 
ly, I am in a position to know, and I tell you, I loved 
that girl from the moment her eyes looked into mine. 
Anxiety for her safety blossomed into love for her 
when I first saw her face. As she looked down upon 
me, wonder supplanting fear in her eyes, as she saw 
and recognized my predicament, I smiled — yes, actual- 
ly smiled, and said: 

“It affords me great satisfaction that you are safe.” 

Peculiar statement to make under such conditions, 
eh? My new acquaintance, however, did not pay 
much, if any, attention to my words. Not so much as 
to say “Thank you, kindly, young sir,” as one reads 
in the fairy tales, but with an anxious look, driving 
wonder from her glorious orbs, she said: 


22 


THE FATEFUL HAND. 


“You are in a position of great danger, sir, and 
I will try to help you out of it.” 

Never a question as to “how did you get there,” 
never an expression of weakness or a remark as to 
her own recent danger, but a deliberate expression of 
an intention to get me out of my difficulty, and she set 
about bringing it into immediate action. Self-pos- 
sessed! Well, you can well say so. Downright brav- 
ery, I call it, and when you learn more of her (for you 
surely will), you will be lost in admiration of a char- 
acter that stands outlined among women like a marble 
statue among a collection of sand heaps. “If you 
can secure assistance I should feel very grateful,” is 
about the answer I returned to her remark. “I do not 
need it,” was the quick response. “Can you climb 
hand over hand?” came the question. 

“Yes.” 

“Then wait a moment and I will furnish you some- 
thing to help you out,” and she disappeared. 

“She will secure a rope,” thought I, without the 
most remote idea as to where she would find such an 
article, but feeling assured from the confidence of 
her mien that she would keep her word. Soon her 
face gladdened my eyes. 

‘ I have no rope,” she said, “but I have removed 
my dress skirt and torn it in strips which I have tied 
securely together, and made of sufficient length to 




















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THE FATEFUL HAND. 


23 


reach you. You need not fear to trust your weight to 
this improvised rope. The material is of wool, and 
very strong. I will pass my end around a smooth, 
jutting rock, and hold it secure, while you climb up,” 
and before I could utter a word or express any doubt 
(even it any had entered my mind), she dropped the 
end of this novel life-saving apparatus to me, and 
again disappeared. 

I tested the strength of the material I held, and 
found it to every appearance suitable, and safe for 
my venture, and when, like a call to happiness, I heard 
her voice call out: “All is ready,” I seized the soft, 
strong fabric, and slowly pulled myself hand over 
hand to the top. I can assure you, Hugo, my friend, 
it was no easy task. My arms and legs were stiff from 
my prolonged, constrained position, but I accomplished 
it successfully, and soon stood upon the narrow ledge 
which formed the path, and hastened to thank the girl 
who had saved me. 

“I could not well do less,” was her reply, averting 
her eyes from my pronounced stare (it was such) of 
admiration, and then she turned and left me, looking 
after her in amazement most profound. “Come, this 
will never do,” I muttered under my breath. “I can 
understand she has no desire to continue an acquaint- 
ance begun under such unusual circumstances, but I 
must know more of her. It would be ungrateful, to 


24 


THE FATEFUL HAND. 


say the least, not to make good the dress skirt she has 
destroyed to furnish me with a means of escape from 
death.” And with some such thoughts — I will not be 
positive if they were thus expressed — I hurried after 
her. 

First, I wish to inform you, that I found the “stone 
of stumbling” and cast it into the depths, where it 
had nearly precipitated me. I did not hear it strike 
the bottom. Didn’t try to. .Second, some hundred 
yards further on I found my bicycle, fortunately unin- 
jured, not even a punctured tire, and finding my 
wheel, I felt “myself” again, and confidence returning 
(barring some stiffness in my joints) I pressed boldly 
after my heroine, who was rapidly descending the 
mountain side. Hugo, my dear boy, that girl is the 
fastest (is the word permissible?), most graceful walker 
I ever saw. Hurrying along that narrow way, her 
splendid form swaying with the haste of her move- 
ment, her blue-black hair floating behind her, far 
below her waist, she presented to my eyes a picture, 
fair to look upon, even if her lower limbs were draped 
in a faded alpaca underskirt, decidedly frayed at the 
bottom, ^and further, it taxed my speed to overtake her. 
I might have done so in less time by mounting my 
wheel, but I had passed through one experience that 
day, and although, as stated before, it might prove 
gratifying to you to have your prophecy fulfilled, still, 


THE FATEFUL HAND. 


25 


“once was enough for me,” and I preferred leading 
my wheel, and making such haste as I could under 
the circumstances. Besides — fancy a fellow riding 
down the woman who has saved his life on a bicycle! 

“Pardon me,” I breathlessly apologized, reaching 
her side, “I do not wish to impose my company upon 
you, and I infer you do not desire it, but really, you 
know, your dress skirt, you know. I ought to make 
it good, you know, and I can never find words enough 
to express my gratitude, you know,” and so on, stum- 
bling and stammering, “you knowing” like a fool, and 
feeling myself getting red in the face, and embarrassed, 
the more so as I perceived the vivid scarlet of modesty 
rising to her cheek as I mentioned the skirt. 

She paused and stood with downcast eyes before 
me. I felt like an intruder, decidedly, and words 
failed me. Suddenly, with a burst of tears, she raised 
her head in an impetuous manner, and brushed aside 
the masses of her crowning glory, which had fallen 
forward over her shoulders as she lowered her head. 
“You must not follow me,” she said, her sweet voice 
broken by her sobs. “I have saved your life, make 
good use of it. I have sacrificed nothing that I would 
ask you to replace, my skirt is not worth speaking of. 
I could not receive anything at your hands. I am in 
great trouble, it would be showing your gratitude if 
you would leave me.” 


26 


THE FATEFUL HAND. 


I accepted her words as true. Surely it is iar irom 
grateful to oppress the woman who has saved your 
life; and I suppose I would have left her and made my 
way either back to Georgetown, or in quest of my 
party, but at that moment circumstances necessitated 
her need of my service, and for them I am devoutly 
thankful! Unconsciously we had taken a few steps to- 
gether, and came to a turn in the path ; as we did so, a 
smothered cry issued from her lips, and raising my 
head, bowed in thought, I beheld, outstretched upon 
the path, the inanimate form of a young man. 

“Basil,” she cried, a touch of anguish in her .one, 
and knelt beside the form. I drew near. The face 
was upfurned. It was the face of the fiend who had 
attempted the life of the girl who now knelt beside 
him, raining tears upon the quiet face, now, no longer 
fiendish, but still and placid, and bearing a strong re- 
semblance to her own. 

“Basil, Basil, my darling!” moaned the girl. 

I knelt beside her and took the wrist of the un- 
conscious man in my hand. The pulse was feeble, 
but life was there. 

“He lives,” I said, and then, in a stern inquiring 
tone, a tone that I could not control, I continued: “He 
attempted your life a short time ago.” 

She looked up and met my gaze with eyes that 
flashed with indignation. 


THE FATEFUL HAND. 


27 


“You speak without knowledge,” she flashed. “He 
is my brother; we were born the same day. Is it likely 
he would seek to kill me?” 

“Forgive me,” I cried, scarcely understanding her, 
for I could not reconcile her words with the scene 
my eyes had gazed upon so short a time before. “For- 
give me. I must have been mistaken.” 

Her face softened. 

“You were,” she said simply; then her eyes light- 
ing up with sudden inspiration, she interrogated: 

“You wish to be of service to me?” 

The question bore the ring of consciousness that 
she so believed. I assured her of the fact. 

“You will help me get him home?” 

My heart gave a glad throb. 

“Yes.” 

“Thank you.” So gratefully came the words. “We 
can carry him between us.” 

“Not so,” I objected. “I will carry him; you take 
the lead and show the way.” 

She gazed upon me in wonder. She did not know, 
as you know so well, dear old boy, that I had passed 
through an experience much like that which now con- 
fronted me. She could not know that I had carried 
you on my wheel one dark night when an unfriendly 
curb had thrown you from your own silent steed, and 
left you bleeding in the road. She did not know that 


28 


THE FATEFUL HAND. 


my strong cycle had borne two men upon that occa- 
sion, one pedaling sternly homeward, bearing across 
his knees and shoulder the other, bleeding from the 
cruel wound inflicted by the stone; you bear the scar, 
dear boy, but my heart treasures the memory! 

Dear old wheel! I believed it capable of double 
duty again. She could not know the former circum- 
stance, but I soon revealed my plan to her, and, in a 
short time we were proceeding slowly toward the place 
she called home, she walking by my side, her hand on 
the handlebar of the wheel, I bearing the inanimate 
form of her brother, slowly, carefully pedalling my 
way. 

But I must bring this lengthy epistle to a close. I 
will have more to write you at an early date. Suffice 
it to say in conclusion, the girl bears the name of 
Esther Manton, the brother, Basil Manton; they are 
twins (I believe I mentioned this latter before). I 
have gained the confidence of the girl, and she has told 
me the -story of her life, and of all the strange things 
in history, fiction or imagination, I can fancy nothing 
stranger than this same story; but of this later. I will 
write you again within a day or so. I may need your 
science to help me out in the problem with which I 
have become identified. I believe you can do it if any 
one can. Perfect confidence, you see! Basil is the 


THE FATEFUL HAND. 


29 


patient I referred to, a short time back. An interest- 
ing one, I can assure you. 

Write me to Georgetown; although I am nearly 
ten miles out from the city, still, I propose going in 
to-night to mail this letter, and will then arrange to 
have my mail brought me. Write soon. As ever, 

Edward Leslie, C. E. 

P. S. You of course understand that “C. E.” means 
“cycling enthusiast/’ and my neck is not broken yet!! 
but, oh, my heart!!! 


CHAPTER III. 


A MYSTERY. 

Through an opening twelve inches square in the 
side .of the log building, the light pours in upon the 
low couch where lies the form of a white-faced young 
man, and the radiance of the setting sun lights up the 
faces of two who stand by the side of the couch — a girl 
with long, jetty hair, and a broad-shouldered giant 
of six feet one, whose evenly balanced head, crowned 
with a tawny mass of crisp curls, is bowed in tender 
solicitude over the form of the unconscious one./ 

“He will recover,” murmurs the man, reassuringly. 
“You will have the pleasure of looking into his con- 
scious eyes before long.” 

The girl turns away with a sigh. 

‘He is blind,” she says, simply, but yet, how 
forcibly. 

Her companion turns to her in amazement. 

“Blind?” he exclaims. 

How can this be? It has been but a few short 
hours since he has looked into the eyes of this man, 
and seen the fire of mania glittering in their depths. 


30 


THE FATEFUL HAND. 


31 


Those eyes were not the expressionless orbs of one 
blind; of this he feels confident, so repeats the ex- 
clamatory interrogation: “Blind ?” 

“Yes.” 

f 

Edward Leslie is puzzled, but is too well bred to 
say more; he stands, his eyes fixed upon the still, white 
face of the brother of the girl who has saved his life, 
and to whom his heart has gone out in an intense 
yearning. 

Ah! the afflicted one moves, the girl falls upon her 
knees, and takes his hand. 

“He has recovered,” she says slowly, and there 
is a tinge of joy in the tone, then she rises to her feet, 
and turns her sad, beautiful face upon the young civil 
engineer. 

“You have more than repaid me for the service 
I rendered you,” she begins, “you have given me the 
life of my brother in return. Now I shall be able to 

attend to him, I ” She falters — Edward Leslie 

understands her. 

“You wish me to go?” he asks. 

“Yes. Do not think me strange,” the tone is al- 
most an appeal. 

A great light comes to the eyes of this noble fellow. 
His heart swells, and yearns to take her within its gen- 
erous capacity. He bows his head and says gently: 

“Tell me, you who have some trouble, why you 


32 


THE FATEFUL HAND. 


wish to rid yourself of one who would be a friend to 
you of no common order. Tell me, you who need a 
friend — and I believe you do — why do you desire to 
be left friendless?” 

He has spoken boldly. The question is one he has 
no right to ask. Yet he cannot restrain the words, 
he cannot refrain from offering his services to this sad- 
eyed maiden, who has seen much sorrow, if the tell- 
tale lines of suffering at the corners of the pathetic 
mouth tell the truth. His words, though gently spoken, 
startle her; yes, even seem to frighten her. She looks 
hastily about the miserably furnished cabin as if seek- 
ing a place of refuge. The action — an involuntary 
one — calls for these words from the heart of Edward 
Leslie: 

“Do you fear me?” he asks in tender solicitude. 
“You have nothing to fear from me. Why! You 
saved my life! I would give it for you.” 

She shrinks from him. Why this strange fear? 
He cannot understand it, and as he observes the ac- 
tion so pronounced he determines to learn the secret 
of this young heart and prove a friend to her. He 
scarcely understands himself. The resolve is in keep- 
ing with his generous, noble nature, in all truth; but 
the suddenness of its fixed hold upon him is beyond 
his comprehension. He is not given to sudden friend- 
ship. There is nothing superficial about Edward Les- 


THE FATEFUL HAND. 


33 


lie. His impulses seldom lead him to error. He 
thinks long and soundly before engaging in anything, 
either of pleasure, business or association. It may be 
the mystery he believes he detects in this girl’s strange 
behavior; the unexplained contradictions between 
what he has seen and what she has said, that decides 
him to learn the truth concerning her. It may be 
love urging him on. She makes no reply to his last 
words. He speaks again. 

“I do not wish to intrude upon you, in the face 
of your evident desire to be left alone, but I do not 
feel justified in leaving you with one whom I have 
every reason to believe is given to maniacal frenzy; 
even if he is your brother.” 

She puts out one white hand as if to stop him ; but 
he continues: 

“I take it for granted you live here alone with 
him. I see nothing that would lead me to believe 
that any save you and he are sheltered beneath this 
roof. I saw you in a position of great peril today, 
your very life threatened by him. I cannot believe 
it safe to expose you to a repetition of this.” 

She sinks upon her knees before him, her long hair 
falling about her shoulders. 

“Say no more, say no more,” she repeats. “You 
do not know, and for the love of heaven do not seek 
to learn the truth. You have been kind, but go; your 

3 


3-4 


THE FATEFUL HAND. 


presence here will be discovered by your friends who 
will search for you, and then — we will be found — our 
hiding-place will become known. Ah, go! leave us! 
and keep our hiding-place a secret/’ 

The words burst from her lips in a series of frantic 
appeals. She has surely said more than she intended, 
and what she has said, determines Leslie to learn all. 

He stoops and lifts her to her feet. She is trem- 
bling like a wind shaken leaf. His heart fills with pity. 

Leading her to a rough wooden bench near, he 
seats her, and with a glance over his shoulder, that 
assures him that the figure upon the bed still occupies 
a recumbent position, he seats himself beside her. 

In low, gentle tones he informs her of his mission 
in the mountains this day; demonstrates the unlikeli- 
hood of anyone instituting a search for him; assures 
her of his great desire to be of service to her and her 
brother, and, as she grows calmer, relates, in detail, the 
scene of her great peril. 

As he speaks of her brother’s eyes, wide open and 
fired with frenzy; of the piercing shrieks that issued 
from his throat; the girl turns her eyes upon his face, 
and wonder, mingled with a tinge of joy, are in their 
depths. 

“His eyes were open?” she breathes in tones of 
incredulity. 

“Yes; as I tell you.” 


THE FATEFUL HAND. 


35 


'‘And you heard his voice ?” 

“Yes, and he heard me, for when I shouted at him, 
in the hope that I might deter him from what I deemed 
his purpose, he rose to his feet, and I saw him no more 
until, with you, I looked upon him, unconscious and 
outstretched upon the mountain path.” 

She slowly shakes her head; then, with a quick 
movement, rises, and crosses the room to the bedside 
of her brother. 

“Basil,” she calls in a tone of tender supplica- 
tion. A pause, then she repeats the word, in a louder 
tone. 

Following her, Leslie stands beside her, and sees 
her press open the closed lids, that cover his eyes. 

He sees the white balls of the eyes, and knows 
at a glance that those orbs are fixed by a muscular 
contraction, and are incapable of vision, and yet, with 
all this evidence before him, he has seen those eye- 
lids open, and observed a fearful meaning in the eyes 
themselves. What mystery is here? 

“You see,” says the girl, sadly. “You were mis- 
taken. He cannot see, neither can he hear or speak. 
He is as conscious now as he has been at any time 
for nearly a year. I, who have been with him con- 
stantly for all this time, cannot be mistaken. You are 
in error, you fancied all you have told me.” 


36 


THE FATEFUL HAND. 


Edward Leslie is confounded. There is before him 
a problem beyond his solving. 

“You say he is conscious?” he mutters, scarcely 
knowing what he says. 

“Yes, see, I take his hand and he presses it. He 
is conscious that I am with him. He walks when I 
lead him, he eats when I feed him, but lies, as you see 
him, the greater part of the time, and seems best sat- 
isfied when he is so.” 

“How came he so?” 

The girls shoots a quick glance up into his face. A 
searching, inquiring glance that finds only honesty 
and sympathy. 

“If I could only trust you,” she breathes, as if to 
herself. 

He takes her hand, which, with a quick movement, 
she endeavors to recover, but he holds her firmly and 
she soon ceases to oppose him. 

“You can trust me,” he says, earnestly. “It will 
be best for you to do so. Again I say you need a 
friend. Give me the privilege of being that friend. 
Tell me why you are in hiding here, permit me to help 
you.” 

A moment’s hesitation, then he knows she has de- 
cided to trust him. Her little hand lies passive in his 
own. She looks again into his face and says: 

“I will tell you the story.” 


. THE FATEFUL HAND. 


37 


He leads her to the bench and sits by her side. 

Without hesitation she begins. 

“I tell you my sad story, believing you are honest 
and true. I impose no conditions on you, having con- 
fidence that you will not betray us. We do need a 
friend. It would seem that God has sent you to supply 
our need.” 


CHAPTER IV. 


A STRANGE STORY. 

“My name is Esther Manton, that of my brother, 
Basil, and our home was, until nine short months ago, 
in Kansas. The details of our earlier family history 
would not interest you, nor benefit us by relating them. 
Suffice it to say, my father was married twice, having 
one child, a son, by his first wife, and we, my brother 
and I, by the second. Our half brother, Morgan, is 
ten years our senior, and has ever held an influence 
over father, which resulted nine months ago in his 
selling our home and productive farm, with the in- 
tention of engaging in a mercantile business in some 
large city. 

“Morgan never liked farming. He called it drudg- 
ery, and being educated at an eastern college, where he 
acquired tastes above the simple practices and oppor- 
tunities of our plain country life, urged father per- 
sistently to dispose of the farm and remove to the 
east, where his (Morgan’s) tastes could be gratified, 
and, as I have stated, father finally consented. 


THE FATEFUL HAND. 


39 


“The money was paid by the purchaser of our 
home, on the morning of the tenth day of August last, 
and being some distance from town, father placed it 
for safe keeping in an old fashioned desk, the lid of 
which was secured by an ordinary padlock. 

“We were all present when father turned the key in 
the lock, and placed it in his pocket. ‘To-morrow,’ 

said he, ‘I will take this money to (our county 

seat) and put it in bank.’ 

“ ‘I will take it over to-day/ suggested Morgan, and 
I remembered afterward that he spoke eagerly; but 
father thought it best to wait until he could go and 
deposit it himself. 

“I could see Morgan was not pleased, and, at that 
time could not understand why he should appear put 
out over such a trifle. It is plain to me now. 

“That afternoon, mother, Basil and I visited some 
neighbors, dear friends, who lived about five miles 
distant. Mother and I drove over in a buggy, while 
Basil rode his pony. Shortly after three o’clock, Basil, 
who had been uneasy for some reason which he could 
not explain, decided to return home, and mounting his 
pony, did so, and an hour later we followed him. 

“The day had been a beautiful one. It seems to 
me I have never seen the sun shine brighter, but the 
air was close and oppressive during the afternoon, and 
as we drove homeward I noticed the sky filling up 


40 


THE FATEFUL HAND. 


with scurrying clouds driving here and there, white, 
fleecy, but edged with black. 

“Such clouds I had never observed before. At 
least, I had never noticed them particularly, and I 
called mother’s attention to their peculiar movement 
and density. Her face became clouded with anxiety. 
‘I hope I may be mistaken,’ she said, in her sweet 
way, ‘but those clouds appear very much like those 
that precede a cyclone, and see, dear, how the wind 
stirs the leaves.’ 

“I looked, and saw the leaves turning this way and 
that, as if the almost imperceptible breezes were com- 
ing from different directions. Still, there was so little 
wind, that I could not believe that the destroying mon- 
ster of the west was upon us. But I touched the horse 
with the whip, anxious for mother’s sake, to reach 
home as soon as possible. Quite rapidly we drove 
along, but we never saw our home again. With aston- 
ishing rapidity the sky became covered; the white 
clouds disappeared, and black masses filled the sky; 
muttering thunder rumbled and roared, and there 
came a stillness as of death. It was a stillness that 
preceded destruction, for in the midst of it a whirring, 
then a rumbling sound reached us, a sound I cannot 
describe, for it is unique of its kind, and looking back 
over her shoulder, mother screamed in terror: ‘The 
cyclone! The cyclone!!’ 


THE FATEFUL HAND. 


4i 


“I followed her gaze, and saw with horror, a black 
dense, funnel-shaped cloud, rushing toward us, rising 
and falling, dipping and bounding like some awful 
thing of life, bent on the ruin and desolation of the 
beautiful earth. 

“I felt assured we must perish, but at that moment 
I saw, close to the ruins of a house, which some few 
months before had been destroyed by fire, and which 
had stood close by the road, the mound which declared 
the position of one of those places of refuge, provided 
by dwellers in cyclone visited districts for their safety. 
A cyclone cellar. I spoke to mother, and turned the 
horse from the road, and soon we were safe ten or 
twelve feet underground, and none too soon, for 
scarcely had we closed the door and securely fastened 
it by the means of the heavy wooden bars, provided for 
that purpose, when the roaring monster was upon us, 
and the cracking, tearing sound of destruction reached 
us.” 

Here Esther paused and tears came to her eyes. 
Silently Edward waits. He knows she, in her story, is 
living again the scenes she is relating. So he remains 
silent, and waits for her to resume. 

It.is but a short time till she does so. 

“The storm lasted nearly an hour; the wind was 
followed by rain; during all that time mother was upon 


42 


THE FATEFUL HAND. 


her knees, and the word most upon her lips was 
‘Father/ 

“When all had become quiet, I unbarred the door, 
and we ascended to the surface, and, ah, what a scene 
met our gaze! Trees uprooted, the debris of fences 
and buildings scattered everywhere. 

“Mother clutched my arm with a clasp that caused 
me pain. 

“‘Your father and brothers; are they living?’ she 
gasped through lips close set in anguish. During our 
stay below, my mind had held but little else than the 
thought of my father and Basil, my twin brother. To 
Morgan I had not given a thought. There was no 
love between us. There was more sorrow in my heart 
over the thought of the destruction of the faithful horse 
we were obliged to desert, than for him. 

“Do not think me hard hearted, or strange for say- 
ing this; you can have no idea how Morgan persecuted 
us, even when we were children. We cannot love 
our persecutors! 

“I endeavored to comfort mother, assuring her 
that father and Basil would certainly find refuge in 
the cellar, when they saw the cloud coming upon 
them. ‘Perhaps they did not see it/ she said, and 
refused to be comforted. 

“The journey home was a short one, the place 


THE FATEFUL HAND. 


43 


where we had found shelter being but a little over one 
mile from our house. 

“Eagerly we looked for the familiar outhouses and 
the windmill, which marked the spot so dear to us, as 
we drew near. We saw them not; all was desolation 
and ruin. Hurriedly we pressed forward through the 
wreck which bestrewed our path, seeing here and there 
the carcasses of our domestic animals, dear friends 
whom we loved ; faithful servants who had supplied us 
with their strength and proven so useful in the past; 
on until we came to where the house had been; and 
there, with a cry of horror and awful anguish mother 
left me and ran forward. 

“Oh, sir, I find it hard to describe what followed. 
I must dwell briefly upon it. I cannot go into de- 
tail. 

“When I reached the ruin of our home I found 
that the trees surrounding the house had, in a measure, 
protected the lower story. The upper portion was 
gone, but the walls stood to the height of ten feet or 
more. The front, however, had been entirely torn 
away, and as I drew near, revealed the interior to my 
eyes. 

“I first saw the old desk, where father had placed 
the money for the farm. It was overturned, and the 
lid wrenched off at the hinges. This I plainly saw, 
and it became impressed upon my mind. The pad- 


44 


THE FATEFUL HAND. 


lock still held firm. There I saw mother bending 
over the body of some one, I could not tell at that 
first glance who, but as I drew near, and stood by 
her side, I saw it was father, and that he was dead! 

“Dazed, hardly realizing what had come to us, I 
looked about the room. The furniture was overturned 
as though there had been a struggle, and behind an 
old-fashioned hair sofa, I found Basil, apparently dead. 

“My grief then found full vent. I cannot recall 
all that passed; my next recollection being that Mor- 
gan was standing over me, urging me to check my 
sobs and tears, in a voice kinder, it seemed to me, than 
I had ever heard him use before. 

“It can do no good to carry on so,” he said, “and 
will make you sick. Come, be strong, we must de- 
cide what to do, for we are not only homeless, but 
penniless.’ 

“In a bewildered manner I spoke of the money, 
over twelve thousand dollars, which father had placed 
in the desk. 

“His face grew dark. 

“ Tt is no longer there/ he said; ‘when I entered 
the house, after the storm, I found the desk as you see 
it. Either the cyclone tore off the lid and scattered 
the bills in shreds to the four winds, or someone who 
knew of the money being here, came during my ab- 
sence from home, and, overpowering father, took it 


THE FATEFUL HAND. 


45 


from the desk; at any rate, the money is gone, and 
we are beggars.’ 

“His face was dark and gloomy as he spoke, and 
my heart grew heavier. What was to become of us? 

“Then I observed for the first time that we were 
alone with Basil. Morgan observed my nervous 
glance about the wrecked room, and said: 

“ ‘We have taken father’s body into the cyclone 
cellar. Your mother is in charge of the neighbors, 
who are doing all they can to soothe her The path of 
the storm was only about one-half mile wide, and those 
who were so fortunate as to escape its ravages will 
give us a temporary home. Mrs. Davis will take care 
of you and your mother, while I will find lodgings in 

(the county seat) until after the burial of father 

and Basil. Come; you had best be going. It is 
growing dark, and the men will soon be here to re- 
move the body of your brother,’ I repeat his very 
words as nearly as I can remember them, and with a 
weight at my heart, rose from my knees where I had 
remained during the entire time of the conversation. 

“Morgan took my arm to lead me from the room, 
and as he did so, the neighbors entered, to bear the 
body of my brother away. 

“Then I remembered that I had not kissed his cold, 
dead lips. I could not leave him so. Releasing my- 


46 


THE FATEFUL HAND. 


self, I returned and knelt again, and raising the head 
of this dear brother, I pressed a long, fervent kiss 
upon the stern, set lips; and then I screamed with joy, 
for his lips were warm! He was not dead/' 


CHAPTER V. 


- THE HAND OF PROVIDENCE. 

In the excitement of memory the fair face grows 
flushed and beautiful. A warm light shines from her 
eyes. 

The dawning love in Edward Leslie’s heart climbs 
on toward the meridian as he watches her, silently 
waiting for her to take up again the thread of her 
story. 

It is not long before she does so, her next words 
being preceded by a sigh. 

“They told me afterward that I fainted when I 
found that death had not claimed my brother. 

“They said I remained unconscious so long that 
they feared I would not recover, but when conscious- 
ness did come, it brought nothing of joy to me, for 
the hand of affliction fell upon me, first bringing burn- 
ing fevet ; a fever that held me bedfast for eight long 
weeks, and when, weak and wan, I was able to be up, 
they told me that mother had been taken from me, that 
she had been pronounced insane by several physicians 


47 


48 


THE FATEFUL HAND. 


brought by Morgan, and had been sent to an asylum 
at St. Louis. 

“After my first burst of grief was over I inquired 
into the particulars, and learned that mother had 
charged Morgan with the death of his father and the 
theft of the money. That she had persisted in this, 
even going into a frenzy of grief and rage whenever 
she met him, and finally she became so violent that it 
was considered best to confine her. ‘And Basil/ I 
asked, a fresh fear at my heart. 

“ ‘He lives/ came the answer, ‘but can neither see, 
hear nor talk. The doctors say the cyclone produced 
the trouble, and he will never get well, and your 

brother Morgan says ’ ‘Mrs. Davis, I would like 

to speak with you/ I heard Morgan say at that mo- 
ment, and knew he had entered in time to hear Mrs. 
Davis’ last words, and check her. 

“They left the room together. 

“Why had he stopped her in her speech? What 
had he said concerning Basil? 

“From a murmur that came from the adjoining 
room, I believed they were talking there, and de- 
termined, weak as I was, to hear, if possible, their con- 
versation. 

“I managed to crawl to the door, and press my ear 
to the keyhole, and with joy, found I could hear. 

“They were speaking of Basil. 


THE FATEFUL HAND. 


49 

u ‘He can’t live long, and it would be best for him, 
for he would receive proper care/ I heard Morgan 
say. 

“‘And you want to. keep it from her?’ said Mrs. 
Davis. 

“ ‘Yes; she would object to his going, and make 
no end of trouble. So keep it from her until it is all 
over and then it will make no difference/ 

“ ‘She’ll take on awful when she finds it out/ re- 
marked Mrs. Davis. 

“ ‘I will provide for all that/ replied Morgan. 

“ ‘When will you take him?’ 

“ ‘One week from today. Now you had best re- 
turn to her/ 

“I had barely reached my chair, when Mrs. Davis 
returned. 

“ ‘What did Morgan want of you?’ I asked. 

“The honest soul grew red and hesitated. Finally 
she replied: 

“ ‘Oh, something for your good, dearie/ and then 
she left me to prepare a cup of broth, she said. 

“I saw that it was the intention of Morgan to sep- 
arate Basil and me, and like an inspiration came the 
thought: ‘He killed father, and took the money; when 
mother accused him of this he found means to have 
her confined where her words would be considered 
as insane ravings. Now, fearing that Basil or I might 

4 


THE FATEFUL HAND. 


5o 

be in his way, he wishes to separate us, placing him in 
some asylum, perhaps, and then, I being alone, in his 
power, he will find a way to dispose of me.’ 

“The longer I thought over this the more firmly 
persuaded I became, and I began laying plans to de,- 
feat the villain in whose veins flowed the blood of my 
father, but not of my mother. I felt thankful for 
that. 

“When Mrs.Davis'returned with the broth I asked 
her if Morgan had made any statement as to where he 
had obtained the money necessary to send mother to 
St. Louis, and how her expenses were being defrayed 
while at the asylum. 

“Yes; he had collected certain outstanding ac- 
counts, amounting in all to about one thousand dol- 
lars, and this had supplied the money for present ex- 
penses, and he expected to be in a position to make 
some money soon to meet the demands of the future. 
This I doubted, but gave no expression to it, and 
during the next few days did all I could to gain 
strength sufficient for the desperate effort to escape 
and take Basil with me. 

“I had formed a plan for providing myself with 
money. Although doubting success, I determined 
to try it, and when, two days before the time appoint- 
ed to take Basil away, Morgan visited me, I said to 
him : 


THE FATEFUL HAND. 


5i 


“ ‘Morgan, I have certain needs in the way of cloth- 
ing, which are very urgent. I have learned that you 
were successful in collecting some moneys due father, 
and I wish you would give me a portion sufficient to 
provide me with the articles I need.’ 

“He seemed surprised, and his face darkened for 
a moment, but soon became clear. 

“ ‘How much will you need?’ he asked. 

“ ‘Not less than one hundred dollars, and as much 
more as you can spare me/ I replied. 

“He laughed, a covert sneer under it all. 

“ ‘It might be cheaper in the end for me to make 
the purchases/ he remarked. 

“ ‘I prefer doing so myself/ I replied, feeling my 
face burning for fear that he would refuse me. 

“But he did not. With a remark to the effect that 
he hoped I would make the money go as far as pos- 
sible, he gave me one hundred and fifty dollars! I 
doubt if he would have done so if Mrs. Davis had not 
been present, I chose a time when she was with me to 
prefer my request. 

“There is little more to tell you. You can see' that 
I succeeded in making good our escape. 

“In the darkness of night I removed the trunks 
containing such clothing and bedding as I had time 
to pack. I harnessed a fast team, belonging to Mr. 
Davis, to a light wagon, yet of sufficient size to hold 


52 


THE FATEFUL HAND. 


the trunks. I loaded the wagon and assisted dear 
Basil to the seat, and by daylight we were in Lincoln. 

“Here we took the train for Denver, and from there 
to Georgetown. I had heard some one speak of 
Georgetown, and I believed the mountains would 
afford us the safest hiding place. God has sheltered 
us with his hand, and here we have lived all through 
the long, dreadful winter, requiring little. I, happy 
in security and the safety of my brother; he uncon- 
scious as to his surroundings; content to be where I 
am. Now, sir, you have heard my story, you know 
why I desire to keep the place I call home secluded 
and secure from the eyes of every human being.” 

For some time the young civil engineer sits with 
his eyes fixed upon the floor. A strange story is this, 
an improbable one as well. Has the girl told him the 
truth? 

It seemed altogether unlikely for any one so en- 
cumbered with baggage and a helpless companion to 
succeed as this girl had done. Again, search would 
surely be made by those who were interested in them, 
and it would not be difficult to trace them. The girl 
sits, her eyes fixed upon his face. 

“You doubt me?” she says. 

He turns his eyes upon her. 

“It seems incredible that you succeeded so well,” 


THE FATEFUL HAND. 


53 


he replies, slowly. “There are -certain things difficult 
to explain. You were followed, were you not?” 

“Yes, even to Georgetown, but there the search 
ceased.” 

“And why?” 

“I have told you God protected us. It necessi- 
tated the death of a good man, and two good horses, 
but He saved us.” 

“Explain.” 

His tone is one of surprise, still mixed with doubt. 
She flushes, reading his thought, and says: 

“Reaching Georgetown, I determined to find some 
place among the mountains where we could hide. 
While in Denver I had purchased a supply of canned 
meats and vegetables, together with flour and such 
other articles of provisions and household necessity 
as I thought we would require for our subsistance and 
comfort during the winter. These articles were 
shipped by fast freight to Georgetown, addressed 
to a fictitious name. They arrived a few days later. 

I had no idea where we would make our home, 
determining at a favorable time to find some quiet, 
suitable spot. Stopping at the house where I had tak- 
en board was a man who made his living by hauling 
supplies to the mining camps. I made his acquaint- 
ance, and learned he lived alone when at home in a 
cabin he had built in the mountains. I felt impressed 


54 


THE FATEFUL HAND. 


with the idea that I could trust him, and told him 
enough of my story to enlist his sympathies, and lead 
him to offer us a home with him for the present at 
least. 

He was to leave Georgetown early the following 
morning, and I determined to go with him. 

During the night our supplies and baggage were 
loaded upon his wagon and before daylight we had 
left Georgetown. 

The road by which we came was a winding one 
up and around the mountain side, and it required sev- 
eral hours of hard, patient pulling on the part of the 
horses to get us to this place, where we have made 
our home. 

Unloading our goods our friend invited me to ac- 
company him a short distance to a point where he 
could direct me to a path by which I could return to 
Georgetown and save considerable distance if at any 
time I chose to go. 

We were obliged to go very slow. The road was 
narrow and slippery. So much so that I resolved to 
walk, and alighted so to do. 

That resolve saved my life. For scarcely had I 
reached the rock when the hind wheels of the wagon 
slipped and wen* over the edge of the canon, and 
before my new found friend could save himself he and 
the horses were dragged over, and went to the 


THE FATEFUL HAND. 


56 


bottom. Oh, it was awful; but it saved u c from pur- 
suit, for it was accepted by the people in Georgetown 
and by those who had followed us to that point that we 
were destroyed at the same time. 

“How do you know this?” 

“A newspaper containing the account of the find- 
ing of the bodies of man and horses was blown in 
front of our retreat one day. Some person passing 
along the path above had probably thrown it away. 
The inference was that our bodies had lodged in some 
cleft of the rock in the downward descent, which ac- 
counted for their not being found.” 

The difficulties in the way of accepting the strange 
story are fast disappearing from Edward Leslie’s mind. 
The facts are unusual, but not improbable. Briefly 
reviewing what he has heard, he concludes that the 
girl has told him the truth, but has acted hastily and 
unwisely in resorting to such desperate measures. Ed- 
ward Leslie has never accepted the fallacy that it is 
best to act on “first impressions,” and this is what he 
believes this girl has done in her action toward Mor- 
gan Manton. He resolves, however, not to mention 
his thoughts to her, but to adopt such measures at the 
earliest possible time, as to reach the bottom of the 
whole matter, and restore this beautiful creature to civ- 
ilization and happiness. 

She breaks in upon his study. 


56 


THE FATEFUL HAND. 


“You believe me now?” she murmurs. 

He takes both her hands in his own, and in the 
growing darkness says softly: 

“Yes; and thank you for unbosoming your secret 
to me. But one thing more. How did you come to 
be in such danger today?” She does not withdraw 
her hands while she speaks. 

“The day was so beautiful, the sun so bright, I 
thought it would do Basil good to take him out in the 
sunshine. I was leading him home along the unfre- 
quented path when the storm came upon us, and in 
the terror of the blinding sheets and violent winds, I 
stepped upon a stone, which threw me violently to the 
ground. The fall rendered me unconscious, and I 
knew no more until a voice shouting broke in upon 
my stupor. The voice was yours. You know the 
rest.” 

Yes, and more than she can tell. 

“I had better provide a light,” she says, and rising, 
prepares to do so. 

Mechanically he approaches the bed where Basil 
Manton lies outstretched. Here is the greatest mys- 
tery of all, and he determines to solve it. 

He takes the hand of the afflicted youth and, with 
much concern, notes he has considerable fever. 

The events of the day have been too much for him. 

He determines not to alarm the girl, but recognizes 


THE FATEFUL HAND. 


57 


the necessity of giving medical aid at once, and this he 
does, without causing her to suffer the agony of fear. 

He carries a pocket medicine case, and in this 
finds such alteratives as he will need. Some simple 
yet effective hygienic practices are resorted to, and 
during the long hours of the night, while the girl is 
sleeping quietly behind the curtain which divides the 
apartment, Edward Leslie sits by the bedside of the 
fevered youth, engaged in writing to Hugo Latimer, 
M. D., of St. Louis, and attending to the necessities of 
his patient. 

The morning dawns as he finishes his letter. 


CHAPTER VI. 

HUGO LATIMER, M. D., SPECIALIST IN DISEASES OF THE 
BRAIN, TO EDWARD LESLIE, C. E. 

St. Louis, April, 24th, 189*5. 

My dear Edward: 

It must be admitted that you are a voluminous let- 
ter writer, but you manage to say a great deal more 
than the words contained in your epistles, and this is 
not only a commendable feature, but (in this case at 
least) p. profitable one to the recipient of your favors. 

Your first letter reached me on the date of April 
19th, and amused while it interested me, exciting my 
curiosity to a marked degree, and deciding me to await 
the coming of a second, which I believed would give 
in detail the story of your heroine, before replying, 
and in this I was not disappointed. Your second epis- 
tle coming to hand this a. m., and, reading it, I find 
myself stirred beyond measure over its contents, for, 
my boy, you have presented a case which arouses my 
professional interest, and which I believe will result in 
much benefit to the sacred cause of science, to which 
I am a faithful devotee. 


58 


THE FATEFUL HAND. 


59 


Without wasting valuable time in offering con- 
gratulations for your escape from a horrible death 
(which congratulations you know are warmer than 
pen can indite), I will take up the peculiar facts in the 
mystery of Basil Manton, and explain away all that 
perplexes you, besides presenting a proposition which, 
I believe — if accepted by the young lady in whom 
you are justly interested — will reveal the truth con- 
cerning the death of her father, and the loss of 
the money paid him that morning preceding the cy- 
clone. 

I will say, at this point, that she may have put into 
execution the plan best calculated to bring about the 
best ends, in making her escape from her half brother, 
and that her impression, gathered from the accusation 
of Morgan Manton, from the words of her mother, re- 
peated to her by the voluble Mrs. Davis, may be cor- 
rect. I do believe in impressions, my boy. God works 
in ways strange and inexplicable to us sometimes, in 
carrying the truth to the mind. It would seem that a 
Divine Power is at work in this strange affair. This 
power began to act in the impressions of that weak 
girl at the farm house of Mrs. Davis in Kansas. We 
will see how it will all end. Now, to explain the mys- 
tery of Basil Manton. 

First, I wish to say that I am persuaded that Basil 


6o 


THE FATEFUL HAND. 


Manton was rendered temporarily blind, deaf and 
dumb by the circumstances produced by the cyclone. 

You are aware, my boy, that the senses are in di- 
rect communication with the brain by the means of 
certain nerves connecting the brain with the eyes, ears 
and muscular organs of speech. 

Moreover, you know that all of these senses, sight, 
hearing and speech are in active sympathy one with 
the other. 

It is also well known that the same principle that 
actuates the use and develops the usefulness of one, 
controls all, and that principle is vibration. 

Now, vibration cannot be made possible (in a phy- 
siological sense) without muscular action, and to cer- 
tain well-known anatomical facts I will now call your 
attention. 

The muscles by which the eye is moved are four 
straight (or recti) muscles, and two oblique (the super- 
ior and inferior). By the duly associated action of 
these muscles the eye is enabled to move (within defi- 
nite limits) in every direction. 

Muscular action depends on nerve power. The 
most important of the nerves of motion of the eye is 
the third nerve, or motor oculi. It supplies with motive 
power the elevator of the upper eyelid, and all the 
muscles of the globe (or eye ball) except two, and 
in addition to this, it sends filaments to the iris and 


THE FATEFUL HAND. 61 

other muscular fibres within the eye. This nerve is 
peculiarly sensitive, and exerts a double influence in 
relation to vision; (i) it mainly controls the move- 
ments of the eye ball and the upper eyelid, and (2) 
from its connection with the muscular structures in 
the interior it regulates the amount of light that can 
enter the pupil. Now, my boy, you can readily un- 
derstand that any occurrence that would cause the 
functions of this nerve to become impaired would re- 
sult in a contraction of the muscles of the eye, and 
shut out the light from the eye. This means blindness! 
I might take up the ear in the same way, but do not 
deem it necessary, for the reason that understanding 
the principle upon which the eye performs this part of 
its duty, you can readily accept the action of the 
nerves and muscles of the ear, and their connection 
with the brain, along the same line. I may also add 
the organs of articulation are sympathetically affected 
by anything which disturbs the motive power of either 
eye or ear. 

The brain depends upon the action of the senses 
for its knowledge of passing events. Stating the facts 
simply, I will say that the ear and eye convey their 
gathered information to the great storehouse, where it 
is treasured for future use. It will be accepted by you 
that the shutting off of the sources of supply leaves 
the active power to retain that which has been given, 


62 


THE FATEFUL HAND. 


but furnishes nothing new until the sense of touch 
has been cultivated to do the work of the others, as 
best it may. 

It will also be understood that a partial paralysis 
of the nerves which control for so much good, the 
motive power of the eye and ear, must result in a semi- 
comatose state of the brain with which they connect, 
and, concluding, that event which last occurred during 
the period of usefulness of eye and ear, is that which 
is most firmly held by the cells of the brain, and if the 
nerves are again vibrated by the conditions of light 
or sound, or both, that event will be the first brought 
to the agitated nerve cells, and the scene be re-enacted, 
even as the light of the stereopticon casts a picture 
upon the screen! 

Here is your case! 

Basil Manton witnessed the death of his father. It 
was the last thing he saw, for at about the same time 
the cyclone, with its electrical accompaniments, de- 
scended upon the house, and the extraordinary vibra- 
tion of both light and sound, or either (the nerves act- 
ing in quick sympathy), produced a partial paralysis 
of both the motor oculi and auditory nerve of the 
ear, and rendered him blind and deaf, and, through 
the sympathetic action, dumb! 

The sudden shock produced the state of uncon- 
sciousness in which he was found.- Now, for a theory 


THE FATEFUL HAND. 63 

which I believe to be true, and which will explain the 
scene you witnessed upon the cliff. 

The storm which you passed through was, accord- 
ing to your graphic description, a very severe one, and 
embodied all the features of a cyclone, except the cir- 
cular movement of the terrible funnel-shaped cloud. 
In the midst of this furious tempest Esther Manton 
and her brother were caught. The elements which 
produced the affliction of the young man were repro- 
duced, and the inactive, comatose brain began a vig- 
orous action. The excessive vibration of unusual at- 
mospheric and electric influences produced an effect 
upon the nerves of eye, ear, and speech, that brought 
Basil Manton to life and full possession of his facul- 
ties for the time, and the scene that his brain presented 
to his senses, being more in evidence than the un- 
usual, unaccustomed surroundings, lie saw in the pros- 
trate form of his sister the dead body of his father, 
and the cry that reached your ears was one Gf the most 
intense anguish, mixed with rage, perhaps, against 
the person who murdered him. 

In fact, Basil Manton was in full possession of his 
eyes, ears and speech, but was controlled by the scene 
of the past rather than by that which was before him. 
His eyelids were open, as you saw. You heard him 
shriek, and his ears caught the vibration of your voice 
as you shouted at him. I do not believe he was striv- 


64 


THE FATEFUL HAND. 


ing to push the body of the girl over the cliff; in fact, 
I do not believe he knew the unconscious form was 
that of his sister, nor that she was in a perilous posi- 
tion. Your shout, coming as it did, unexpectedly, and 
breaking in upon the action of his brain, bewildered 
him, and led him to flee from the scene, and as the 
conditions which produced the temporary animation 
passed away; as the storm blew over, and nature re- 
sumed her accustomed way, he relapsed into his form- 
er condition, and, weakened by his extraordinary ef- 
forts, fell exhausted and unconscious, as you found 
him. 

Thus, dear Ned, you have my theory and the ex- 
planation of the mystery. 

Now for the proposition spoken of at the begin- 
ning of this letter. 

First, a statement founded on facts. 

If it were possible for certain conditions to produce 
certain effects, it is possible for a re-enactment of the 
conditions, or the principle upon which the condi- 
tions act, to reproduc.e the effects. 

If the electrical conditions of the storm through 
which you passed, and, which I am persuaded led to 
the temporary restoration of sight, speech and hear- 
ing to Basil Man ton, could perform such a wonder, 
why is it not possible that those conditions, repro- 


THE FATEFUL HAND. 65 

duced and scientifically applied, should restore perma- 
nently and normally these inactive senses? 

I believe it possible, probable and practical, and, if 
the consent of your heroine can be secured, I would 
like to try it. 

“But,” say you, “it is not possible to reproduce the 
conditions of a cyclone, or tornado, or even an ordi- 
nary thunder storm at your pleasure, and to apply 
such conditions scientifically is, to my mind, impossi- 
ble.” 

I take the liberty of offering this imaginary objec- 
tion on your part, in order that I may meet it “scien- 
tifically.” Pardon me if I am taking undue liberties 
with you, old fellow. Now for the answer. All ac- 
tions which produce effects to a given end are the 
same in principle, although different in action. 

For instance, the action of the eye and ear are the 
same “in principle,” although different in action. 

They act together to a given end — the enlighten- 
ment of the brain! 

Now, while it is impossible to reproduce the at- 
mospheric conditions of the storm, it is not beyond 
my power to furnish such electrical conditions as will 
(to my mind) serve my purpose. 

To explain in simple words: Basil Manton is pow- 
erless to use his senses, owing to the lack of, and im- 
possibility of supplying naturally, sufficient vibration 
5 


66 


THE FATEFUL HAND. 


to the nerves and thence to the muscles! Remember, 
vibration is the same in principle, no matter how or 
where directed. Now, I propose to supply vibration 
to the nerve forces artificially. Electrical vibration, 
the vibration of light force, to the motor oculi, and, 
through direct sympathy to that set of nerves that con- 
trol hearing and speech! 

You pause in wonder? Well, I am not surprised. 
You ask: “How can light force be directed to the 
motive nerve of the eye or ear, when both are power- 
less to be affected by the force. The eye cannot re- 
ceive light, in blindness, even as the ear is closed to 
sound in deafness. How can you put your scheme 
into action?” 

Ah, dear boy, late scientific discoveries came to 
my aid. One year ago, it would have been impos- 
sible, but today it can be done, and here you have it. 

Early in January, the world at large was startled 
by the announcement of a discovery which, so far as we 
can yet tell, seems destined to prove an epoch-making 
incident in the development of physical science — the 
discovery of a hitherto unknown form of radiant ener- 
gy, possessing a marvelous power of penetrating bodies 
opaque to ordinary light. To this discovery has been 
given the provisional title of X rays (so-called by 
their discoverer because their nature is still problemat- 
ical), and to this discovery I look for the solution of 


THE FATEFUL HAND. 


67 


your problem, and the proof of my proposition. As 
you know, the discoverer of this remarkable light, Dr. 
Wilhelm Konrad Roentgen, professor of physics in the 
University of Wurzburg, Bavaria, has made experi- 
ments which demonstrate that pictures, or “shadow- 
graphs,” or “radiographs,” can be taken of objects in- 
accessible to ordinary rays of light, such as the skele- 
ton within the body, metallic objects incased in leather, 
etc. 

The method by which this is accomplished is as fol- 
lows: The object of which a print is desired — say the 
lead in a pencil, or coins contained in a purse, or the 
bones in the human hand — is inserted in the path of 
the rays, between the tube from which they emanate, 
and a light box containing an ordinary highly sensi- 
tized photographic plate. The X rays, as they pass 
through the objects interposed between the tube and 
the sensitized plate, are obstructed in varying degrees 
according to the thickness and density of the material 
parts of the objects. 

Thus, the lead in the pencil, the coins in the purse, 
or the bones in the hand, absorb a greater proportion 
of the rays than the wood, the leather, or the flesh, 
and are accordingly outlined in shadow upon the 
plate. 

Since the discovery many scientists, including Pro- 
fessor Czermack,of Gratz, in Austria, and Mr. Edison, 


68 


THE FATEFUL HAND. 


have been experimenting, with a view of applying 
the new method to brain study, but so far without 
satisfactory results; but I, dear boy, have gone far 
enough in my experiments to know that, although 
points of the brain have not been reached, yet the rays 
do penetrate the skull, and their power is felt upon 
the subject! 

I will not take the time to explain my experiments, 
simply permit you to rest assured that I have demon- 
strated to my entire satisfaction that these wonderful 
penetrating rays can be made to reach the dull, leth- 
argic brain and arouse it to temporary life and action. 
You are, in all probability, catching my idea, my pro- 
posed form of treatment for Basil Manton, which, in 
his case, I firmly believe will be successful. To make 
all clear, I will say: 

(1) By the means of the X rays I propose to send 
sufficient light vibration through the skull to the nerve 
cells. 

(2) By the means of this extraordinary light, to 
arouse into action these comatose motor nerves. 

(3 ) By so doing, to restore to him the full posses- 
sion of his faculties, and, 

(4) Thus learn the story of the death of his father, 
and the theft of the money (if it was a theft) from the 
desk. Now, in order that I can put my plan into exe- 
cution it will be necessary for the patient to be brought 


THE FATEFUL HAND. 


69 


to St. Louis. You may assure the girl of absolute 
safety, both from danger in the experiment and at the 
hands of her half brother. 

They can both reside in my house. I have ample 
room, and a good, motherly old housekeeper, who will 
do all in her power to make things pleasant and com- 
fortable, and, by way of a hint, I would suggest that 
the sooner you all come the better. I presume, owing 
to present conditions, you have given up your profes- 
sional engagement. One can’t well attend to too many 
things at one and the same time. Hurry up, Ned, 
and bring your interesting friends to St. Louft. I 
am enthused with my plans, and yearning to put them 
into execution. I note what you say concerning Mrs. 
Manton, but have not had time to investigate. She 
may be in some one of the private asylums in or near 
the city. I know she is not in the city hospital, or the 
county asylum, as I am one of the board of examiners 
for both, and no such person has been admitted within 
a year. Come on, and we will look her up together. 
Let me hear from you at once. 

Truly yours, 


Latimer. 


CHAPTER VII. 


WITH HOPEFUL HEARTS. 

A swiftly speeding train makes its way through 
the arid, sun-dried plains and fertile fields of Kansas. 

Occupying a private compartment of one of the 
Wagner sleepers, are two persons of startling individ- 
uality, one a girl of such radiant beauty as is seldom 
found outside the pages of a novel, or apart from the 
imaginary drawing of the artist’s pencil; the other, a 
young man, who sits silent and with closed eyes, in 
the low reclining chair at the feet of the girl, a wan, 
pale youth bearing a resemblance to the maiden that 
declares a close relationship. 

The pair are Esther Manton and her brother, and 
they are en route to St. Louis, accompanied by Ed- 
ward Leslie, who, at this moment, is entering the car, 
returning from a trip to the forward coach, where he 
has gone in search of the news agent for the purpose 
of purchasing, some fruit. The date is May 24th, and 
the evening is turning into dusk, Since early morn- 
ing, they have been on their journey, but the time has 


70 


THE FATEFUL HAND. 


7 1 


passed rapidly to the conscious ones, for they have 
enjoyed the bliss of each other’s company, shared a 
mutual hope, looking forward to the end of the jour- 
ney, which promises much to them and the object of 
their joint care, Basil, the afflicted one. The girl has 
heard Dr. Latimer’s letter read with the warmth of 
an enthusiasm based on sincere affection and 
perfect confidence in the writer, and has yielded 
to Edward Leslie’s earnest persuasion to make the 
trip, and place her darling one^under the proposed 
treatment, but a month has passed since the letter 
came, and a favorable answer returned ; a month dur- 
ing which Basil has been in the grasp of a burning 
fever, which has left him very weak. But the young 
civil engineer has proved a skillful physician, and an 
indefatigable nurse, and, taking odds against the mon- 
ster, has baffled him and deprived him of his prey. 

The month has been one of such happiness as sel- 
dom comes to man. Love has found a place to dwell 
in the hearts of these two, who, day and night, alter- 
nated in the care of the sick youth. 

Esther has given her heart to the brave, handsome 
fellow, whose life she has saved, and promised him, 
when the experiment has been tried, and her mother 
found to bless their union, that she will become his 
wife. 

He has told her of his happy home in Indiana; of 


72 


THE FATEFUL HAND. 


a father and mother who will welcome her as an only 
daughter. During the hours of the sunlit day, or in 
the shadows of sable night, with the flickering light of 
the candle barely penetrating the gloom, yet sufficient 
to show each the other’s face, he has sounded the 
praises of Hugo Latimer, his dearest friend and col- 
lege chum of Purdue University, and she has listened 
with eyes glistening like stars, and become filled with 
hope in the skill of this miracle worker, who will do 
so much for them all. 

So the weeks have passed; Basil has been pro- 
nounced strong enough to travel, and now they are 
on their way to the “Mound City,” with hearts thrill- 
ing with hope — hope of a loving mother restored to 
her children, of a brother given back to sight and 
sound, of a happy home blessed by a love as earnest 
and deep as that of the immortals. 

There are no clouds in the sunshine of a perfect 
hope. There is no night where the sun ever shines. 

Esther is gazing dreamily out of the window upon 
the darkening landscape, as Edward enters the com- 
partment with his arms loaded with fruit. 

“Dreaming?” he asks as he deposits the articles 
upon the divan, and, sinking to the seat beside her, 
takes her hand. 

“Yes, and happy,” she replies. 

He kisses the little hand, and says: 


THE FATEFUL HAND. 


73 


“The future promises nothing less, much more/' 

She sighs. 

“The future is uncertain,” is her reply, “but we can 
hope.” 

Taking her face between his hands, he turns it so 
he can look into her eyes. 

“Sighs sometimes bespeak doubt,” he says. “There 
must be no doubt mixed with your hope, else it is not 
perfect.” 

“There are sighs of content,” she replies, her lips 
quivering with a faint smile. 

“But you are not content, nor can you be until the 
end desired has been reached.” 

Her eyes glisten roguishly, as she retorts: “I can 
be content in proportion to the extent to which we 
have come.” 

He laughs softly, and kisses her. 

“Womanly characteristic — the last word,” he says, 
and then they are interrupted by the knock of the 
porter, who comes to prepare the table for the evening 
meal, which, according to an arrangement made by 
Edward, is to be served in the privacy of the compart- 
ment. 

At an early hour he leaves her, with the words: 
“The Lord watch between me and thee while we are# 
absent, one from the other.” 

“Good night,” is the whispered response. 


74 


THE FATEFUL HAND. 


And with the knowledge that they will reach their 
journey’s end in the early morning, they part. 

The sun is shining full upon the face of the lofty 
clock tower of the new Union Depot in St. Louis, as 
the train rolls slowly in, and, with a few last hisses of 
escaping steam, stops. Edward has been up and 
bustling about getting the hand baggage in readiness 
for nearly an hour previous to the time of arrival. He 
does not awaken his charges until barely fifteen min- 
utes before the time the train is due, and then insists 
that Esther be quick and do not stop to “fix up much. ,, 

Both she and Basil are ready to leave the train, 
as it halts with that peculiar backward jolt, usual with 
even the best-regulated trains, and as she steps to- 
ward the door is brought face to face with a bearded, 
grave-faced man of perhaps 28 or 30 years, and is in- 
formed by Edward that “this is Dr. Latimer.” 

She accepts the offered hand, and as she feels its 
soft warmth the conviction enters her heart that this 
man can be relied upon. He will accomplish his ends. 

She takes the hand of her brother and leads him 
forward. 

“And this is my patient,” says Dr. Latimer, in his 
strong, confident way. 

“Yes. You can have him now, old boy. He has 
been mine, but I turn him over to your superior skill.” 

The doctor takes the hand of the young man, and, 


THE FATEFUL HAND. 


75 


after a brief but keen scrutiny of the quiet, peaceful 
face, says: 

“And I will cure him.” 

They leave the car, Edward conducting Esther, 
Dr. Latimer leading Basil, and, strange to relate, the 
afflicted youth accompanies the physician in what 
would seem perfect confidence. Could it be possible 
that he felt an impression of- coming aid at the hands 
of the man who conducted him? A close carriage, 
drawn by a magnificent pair of sleek-coated horses, 
is in waiting at the “Porte Cochere,” and after attend- 
ing to the disposition of the baggage, Edward follows 
the three, who have preceded him, and they are 
whirled westward. 

“Ah, it does one good to be back in old St. Louis 
again!” exclaims Edward, with a long-drawn sigh of 
satisfaction. “Not but what I enjoyed my Colorado 
trip,” he hastens to add, with a wink at the doctor, and 
a smile at Esther. 

“This is your first visit to our city?” says Latimer, 
addressing the girl, and affecting not to notice Leslie. 

“Yes. But I know I shall love it dearly if all goes 
well,” she replies in glad earnestness. 

“Then you are sure to love it, for all shall go 
well.” “Even as merry as a marriage bell,” breaks 
in Leslie. 

Esther smiles, and during the ride to the doctor’s 


76 


THE FATEFUL HAND. 


fine residence in the near vicinity of Lafayette Park, 
she joins in the conversation, bright and cheerful, re- 
turning Edward’s merry badinage with quick repartee, 
and giving every evidence of a happiness fresh and 
bubbling as a mountain spring. Breakfast is awaiting 
them upon their arrival, and when it is all over, Esther 
is taken under the motherly “wing” of Mrs. Easterday 
(the doctor’s housekeeper), and after providing Basil 
with a cool room, where he can rest, the two chums 
ascend to the top floor of the building to the labora- 
tory, where they can smoke and talk — and they have 
much to talk about. The laboratory is a large, well- 
lighted apartment in the very top of the building. The 
doctor has answered, when asked why he chose the 
top, rather than some room of easier access for his ex- 
periments: “Well, you see, there is always more or 
less likelihood of an explosion during some of my 
chemical experiments. A severe one, near the roof, 
would only result in blowing off the roof, while if it 
occurred further down, it might do more damage.” 
This explanation, however, has always been accom- 
panied with the doctor’s peculiar smile, so it is prob- 
able that he has been joking at such times. The 
truth of the matter is, the apartment at the top is more 
roomy, and the student less likely to be disturbed by 
chance callers, or the noises of the street; besides the 
windows on all four sides afford a fine view of the 


THE FATEFUL HAND. 


77 


neighboring housetops, and a great portion of the city 
to the east and west, for the Latimer residence is built 
upon an elevation, and is five high stories from the 
earth. A large building originally intended for a sani- 
tarium by the doctor’s father, who built it and prac- 
ticed here the profession taken up by his son one year 
after the death of the father. 

Into this apartment the friends made their way. 
In the light of the morning sun the apparatuses of 
glass and metal shine brightly. Bottles of colored 
liquids stored here and there upon the shelves, and 
various retorts of different shapes and sizes, are ar- 
ranged as suits the purpose of the student. 

Nicely fitted in niches for their reception an elab- 
orate collection of surgical instruments glitter in the 
light, and a vast assortment of electrical batteries, 
motors and apparatus, nearly fill all the space on one 
side of the room. 

Lighting their weeds, the doctor directs the atten- 
tion' of his companion to a table which occupies the 
center of the apartment. Suspended above this is a 
large glass bulb, or tube, of peculiar form, on a shelf 
connected with steel rods to the end of the table, and 
some feet above it rests a motor of considerable size. 
This, Edward notices, is connected by bands and coils 
of wire with an engine and dynamo ten feet distant, 
while immediately under the shelf hangs a second 


73 


THE FATEFUL HAND. 


tube, of the same peculiar form as the first mentioned. 
“The apparatus for our experiment/' says the doctor 
the color and the general appearance of the discharge 
parts of the apparatus in succession, he continues, his 
voice betraying his enthusiasm, as he proceeds: 

“Here I expect to get the power sufficient to pro- 
duce the light necessary to arouse into action the 
lethargic nerves of the brain of our subject. We have 
here at this wire one electrode, and here the other. 
They consist of platinum disks attached to platinum 
wires which are sealed in the glass. I connect the 
first electrode to the negative, the second to the posi- 
tive pole of the induction coil, and then have results. 
As the air pressure in the tube (this bulb) is reduced, 
the color and the general appearance of the discharge 
from the applied power, change character. When the 
pressure reaches a small fraction of a millimetre of 
mercury, the intensity of the discharge in the gas it- 
self becomes very much reduced, but in its place ap- 
pears a strong fluorescence of the glass. This fluor- 
escence of the glass is produced by faint streamers, 
which proceed in straight lines from the negative elec- 
trode. These streamers are termed the cathode rays, 
The X rays are supposed to emanate from the lumin- 
escent spot in the wall of the tube, where the cathode 
rays terminate.” 


THE FATEFUL HAND. 79 

Edward, though interested in the examination of 
the apparatus, is obliged to smile. 

“You are too deep for me, old boy,” he says. “I 
will be obliged to take this up as a special study, if I 
ever expect to understand it.” 

The doctor shrugs his shoulders. 

“I don’t believe I’ll take the time to try and beat it 
into you,” he smiles. “I presume you will be satisfied 
with the effects without endeavoring to learn the 
cause.” 

“You have expressed it precisely,” returns Leslie. 
“Results is what I am looking for.” 

“And you will not be disappointed,” come the 
doctor’s earnest words. “For not content with the or- 
dinary apparatus, I have arranged a second,” pointing 
to the tube suspended under the shelf; “and am as- 
sured the experiment cannot fail. The patient will be 
extended upon this table, with the head upheld in a 
bracket. The force of the first tube will be directed 
upon the front of the brain cavity, the second upon 
the rear; the light will penetrate the skull, and, strik- 
ing upon the nerves, cause a vibration, which will pro- 
duce an immediate effect; in an hour from the time I 
press the button opening the current, Basil Manton 
will not only see, but hear and speak. I am sure of it ! 
Science cannot fail!” 



8o 


THE FATEFUL HAND. 


His face glows with enthusiasm; his eyes sparkle 
and snap in the intensity of his faith. 

The influence of his words reaches his companion, 
who cries aloud: 

“I believe you, old boy!” 

There is a pause — a moment’s silence — then come 
the words from Leslie: “But will it be permanent, 
Hugo?” 

The enthusiast relights his cigar before replying, 
then says slowly: 

“Of that I cannot be sure; but I believe that a con- 
tinuation of the treatment will result in a permanent 
cure, even if the first test fails in sufficiency.” 

“When do you propose making the experiment?” 

“As soon as possible. Say day after tomorrow. 
This will give our patient sufficient time to rest up 
after his journey, and afford me opportunity to have 
everything in smooth running order. I do not want 
anything to interfere with my plans.” 

Day after tomorrow! May 27th! 


CHAPTER VIII. 


A FATEFUL DAY. 

As we look over the calendar of the future, all days 
promise much the same. There is nothing in the com- 
ing time that holds for us more than the twenty-four 
hours of each day that afford opportunity for profit, 
pleasure and rest. The morning dawns, the sun shines 
or the rain falls, the hours pass, and night comes, and 
with it rest, or the sleepless agony of a mind disturbed 
by pain, misfortune, or schemes for aggrandizement. 

May 27th came, as other days have come. The 
dawn was fair, although the rising sun, red as blood, 
foretokened a sultry, sweltering prospect for the 600,- 
000 people of the great metropolis of the prosperous 
southwest, and as the hours passed the prophecy was 
fulfilled. 

The hour of noon finds our friends busy with prep- 
arations for the great experiment. 

The preceding day has been spent in seeing some 
of the sights of the great city. Reclining comfortably 
in Dr. Latimer’s richly upholstered landau, Esther 


8t 


82 


THE FATEFUL HAND. 


Manton has gazed with delight and wonder upon the 
many points of beauty and interest in the great city. 
Basil, at the doctor’s suggestion, being left at home to 
rest and recuperate, before being subjected to the 
power of the rays. 

The day passes pleasantly for all, and night comes. 
Kneeling by her bedside that night Esther breathes 
a prayer to God for the results of the morrow. Its 
coming means much of hope for her. What will its 
ending bring? 

The morning comes. From the window of her 
bedroom the girl sees the sun force back the clouds of 
night and bathe in ruddy beams the waking city. Un- 
consciously she shudders. The color of the orb of 
day is that of blood. Why this weight at her heart; 
why this feeling of oppression when the future 
seems so bright? Why do we labor with presentiment 
of coming evil? 

Dressing quickly she hastens down stairs, and 
meets Edward at the foot; he has just come from the 
library. 

w What an early bird,” he cries cheerily. “It is not 
six o’clock yet.” 

“I did not sleep very well,” she replies, suffering 
his arm to encircle her waist. 

“Nor did I,” he affirms. “How could it be expect- 
ed with so much to think of?”. 


THE FATEFUL HAND. 


. 83 

They pass out of the front door and stand upon 
the broad piazza. In the trees about the spacious 
grounds the birds are merrily chirping. All is still. 
The air is fresh and sweet, but filled with a premoni- 
tion of sultriness. 

They stand and chat until they are joined by the 
doctor, who, with some pertinent remarks concerning 
people who rise early in the morning to put in as much 
time as possible in courting, invites them in to break- 
fast. The clock strikes the half hour past six as they 
sit down to the table. 

Latimer glances quizzically at the clock and re- 
marks : 

“It would appear that none of us slept very well 
last night. I was up by half past five, and found Mrs. 
Easterday had preceded me. Not much later, I caught 
a glimpse of you two on the piazza, and so gave or- 
ders for an early breakfast. I presume we can eat 
enough to last us till noon.” 

“We will try,” says Leslie, and they turn their at- 
tention to the broiled steak, French fried potatoes and 
incidentals of the bountiful meal. 

The morning passes; time rolls ever on to a cer- 
tain end, and the hour of luncheon over, the subject 
which is uppermost in the minds of all is broached by 
the doctor. It has not been mentioned during the 
morning. Their thoughts have been on nothing else, 


84 


THE FATEFUL HAND. 


but, for reasons which none of them could probably 
have explained, they have talked on every other sub- 
ject but this one. 

But now the hour is approaching, and the doctor 
is the first to mention it. 

“I will have everything in readiness at three 
o’clock,” he says, addressing Edward. “And at four 
we will know whether I have found a false theory or 
not.” 

The girl clasps her hand involuntarily. 

“God grant it may not be so,” she murmurs. 

“Amen,” responds Leslie. 

A moment’s silence, then the girl speaks timidly. 

“And I — I can be present?” 

“Of course,” replies the doctor promptly. “I will 
require your assistance; besides, to you belongs the 
first glance of recognition, to you should the first word 
be spoken.” 

Her tender eyes fill with tears; tears of joy. What 
happiness will be hers when the brother she loves so 
well unseals his lips and speaks the words she longs 
to hear! 

They part; the men to arrange the apparatus, the 
maiden to her brother’s room. 

He is lying so still as she enters, that a thrill of 
fear almost causes her faithful heart to cease its ac- 
tion. Often has she come upon him like this, and 


THE FATEFUL HAND. 


85 


thought him dead, but taking his hand she has ever 
become reassured, and it is even so now. 

For an hour she sits by his side, his hand in her 
own, and then, as the clock strikes the half hour pre- 
ceding the time set for the experiment, she rises, and 
makes him ready. 

At three, Leslie comes for them. A gentle touch, a 
slight persuasion, and Basil rises and suffers himself 
to be led from the room, supported on either side by 
Esther and the strong arm of Edward Leslie. 

The laboratory is reached. The curtains are 
drawn, and in the semi-darkness of the vast apart- 
ment the outlined apparatus strikes the girl with an un- 
controllable terror. She trembles and would fain 
leave the room, taking her brother with her. 

“Courage,” whispers Leslie, feeling her arm tremb- 
ling as it toucfies him around the waist of Basil. 
“There is nothing to fear.” 

She puts from her the feeling of awe and deter- 
mines to be brave. 

The doctor approaches them. 

“Be strong and fearless,” he says, in his deep, rich 
voice. “All will be well. There is no danger. You 
have nothing to fear.” 

His words reassure her, and it is with a firm step 
that she leads her brother to the long table. 

The young man is lifted to his place. Is there any 


86 


THE FATEFUL HAND. 


knowledge of what is to transpire in his mind? He is 
laid upon his back, his head upheld by a bracket which 
fits about the neck. 

“You can take his hand,” says the doctor in a low 
tone. 

A moment of silence as profound as the grave, then 
the single word: “Now!” and a whirring sound pro- 
ceeds from the spot where rests the dynamo. A pale, 
soft light shines down upon her. She looks up quick- 
ly and sees the peculiarly shaped bulb above her head, 
glowing with a strangely penetrating light of a green- 
ish cast, then she notices the second bulb suspended 
from beneath the shelf. 

Basil’s head is lighted up by the pale, greenish 
light, his set features calm and peaceful under the 
strange rays. 

Glowing, changing in color, the bulbs light up the 
surroundings. Now the character of the light changes; 
from out of the bulbs proceed numberless radiant 
streamers, directing their force upon the frontal bone 
and the near portion of the patient’s skull. 

“The X ray,” whispers the doctor. 

They seem to forget to breathe. All is still, save 
for the whirring of the dynamo. Outside nature has 
assumed a peculiar aspect. Far off in the western 
sky scurrying clouds are rushing here and there. Fit- 
ful winds are driving in every direction, but there is 


THE FATEFUL HAND. 87 

no coolness in them. The air is close and oppressive; 
the thousands of the great city can scarcely breathe. 

The sky in the north and west begins to assume a 
sickly green color,, the color that urg’es the dweller on 
the prairies to seek safety in his storm cellar. 

The dynamo whirrs on; the silent watchers stand 
by the outstretched form of him who lies still and un- 
disturbed before them. Will the experiment fail? An 
hour has passed. Still there is no sign of any effect 
produced by the penetrating rays. 

Great drops of perspiration stand out upon the 
brow of the watching physician, an awful dread is 
weighing down the heart of the girl. Will it all 
amount to naught? 

Only in the mind of Edward Leslie is there perfect, 
undisturbed confidence. 

ft It cannot fail!” he says to his heart. 

From a distant steeple rings out the hour of four, 
and time rolls on. 

Without, the banks of green clouds to the north 
and west take on a brighter hue, and hang closer to the 
earth. From out of the east, drift big, black, heavy 
shapes of vapor, laden with lightning, that flash in 
sheets and forks. From the smoke-stacks of the city 
the volumes that arise seem driven in every direc- 
tion. 

The windows of the laboratory are raised to admit 


88 


THE FATEFUL HAND. 


the air, the heavy curtains that protect them, shutting 
out most of the light, and nearly all the air, begin to 
flutter. « 

“A storm is threatening,” mutters the doctor, his 
attention being directed toward the west windows. 

Mechanically the girl gazes in the same direction. 
She sees the fluttering curtains, and with a dumb curi- 
osity, keeps her eyes fastened upon them. She is the 
first to hear the roaring of the rising wind. A strong 
presentiment of evil bears down at her heart. As the 
curtain blows aside, she sees a long twisting cloud 
blowing across the sky, and observes a confusion in 
the heavens that carries her back to a scene of horror 
which she has witnessed in Kansas. All is becoming 
dark. She springs toward the window, but pauses 
before many steps have been taken, halts, spell-bound 
in her anxiety, for out from the lips of the brother she 
loves comes the word: 

“Murder!” 

The experiment has been successful! 

Basil has spoken; but oh, what a word of horrible 
import has first escaped his lips. 

She turns and stares upon the scene. She sees the 
white eyelids unclose, and observes an awful look of 
horror in the depths of the eyes. Then a piercing 
shriek issues from the lips of the young man. 







THE FATEFUL HAND. 89 

“God save him! Father! Help, help,” are the 
words that fill the air. 

“Success!” shouts Latimer. “He is viewing the 
scene of his father’s death.” 

The storm descends in fury upon the city. The 
curtains are being whipped into shreds. Through the 
windows the three startled ones behold the approach 
of masses of destroying clouds. 

“A cyclone,” screams the girl; then she falls an 
inert mass upon the floor, and with a series of awful 
cries Basil springs from the table, makes his way to 
the door and is down the stairs before Latimer or Leslie 
can stop him. They follow him in mad haste; as they 
descend the stairs the crash of falling buildings rises 
above the roar of the thunder and the rush of the wind. 

“God help us,” cries Latimer. 

They reach the foot of the stairs. 

The front door is wide open! 

Basil Manton, filled with an uncontrollable frenzy, 
is out in the storm. Out in the midst of destruction 
and the cruel power of the enraged elements. 


CHAPTER IX. 


THE FURY OF THE STORM. 

We pause in our narrative to relate the story of 
that awful storm, that, like a black winged bird of prey 
descended upon one of earth’s fairest spots, and left 
desolation and death behind it. 

Upon history’s page, May 27th will ever mark a 
day of disaster, of tears and cries of fear, of pitiless 
winds, and heartless flames. 

It was a day that contained an awful’ hour, one 
which carried into darkness the work of its hands; 
darkness which covered like a pall the extent of the 
destruction which the minutes had seen wrought 
and waited until the coming of fair Aurora to reveal 
the scene of death; and what a scene the sun arose 
to shine upon. A stricken city, an army of dead, a 
host of wounded and a chorus of cries of anguish 
reaching to the heavens. 

All the afternoon of that terrible day the atmos- 
phere was oppressive with a clammy warmth. On the 
northwestern horizon the cloud-flocks were being 
shepherded by winds. They drifted and rolled and 


90 


THE FATEFUL HAND. 


9i 


piled up in long, laky banks. Stray wisps of wind 
pierced the heat of the city like arrows of icy air sent 
unsheathed by the elemental powers as presages of the 
assault. 

The clouds, first light gray, grew darker in the far 
west and mounted to the heavens, slowly growing 
blacker and blacker. The sun grew angry red as the 
flocks passed before it, and, when it was totally hid- 
den, stillness came, with darkness intense. 

There were little tremulous flutterings in the heavy 
air, and then the heart of the great, black cloud-moun- 
tain took on a lighter tinge. The glow within the 
cloud grew and grew until the whole bank had a pecu- 
liarly livid yellow hue, with suggestions of putrescent 
green, rose red and bruised blue. From the cloud the 
light came with a strange, morbid, ghastly effect. 

The sallow glare was unearthly, and people on the 
street sat at the windows and watched it uneasily. The 
strangely luminous cloud was tumultuous and tossing. 
As it mounted, the air grew cool and little scraps of 
paper began to waft upward from the streets. 

Sparrows and pigeons circled above the roofs. 
Horses in the streets pricked up their ears and looked 
back or after their drivers. The telephones began 
flashing, and the incandescent bulbs throbbed light 
and dark in all the big buildings. 

There was something in the air that foretold dis- 


92 


THE FATEFUL HAND. 


aster. In the parks the birds were still, and vagrant 
winds carried dust in sulphury groups from corner 
to corner. The clouds were giving their victims a 
foretaste of their fury and the victims rested secure 
in blissful ignorance, hoping and praying for the cool- 
ing rain. 

Then the storm came in all its might and fury. It 
caught a city that loves the clouds and did not ex- 
pect harm from them. Traitorously it crept upon 
them, and even as they wondered why the shadows 
of vapor were behaving in a manner so unusual they 
formed their battle front, and brought to being the 
tornado, the child of unusual atmospheric conditions, 
the concentration of the power of the elements. 

The great cloud had come from the northwest and 
then seemed to fill with its saffron turbulence the en- 
tire sky. Behind it and through it flashed lightning in 
sheets and other lightnings in snaky writhings. 

Then came the mighty wind. 

It came like a wall. One could feel the air con- 
densing undef the pressure, and when the wall of wind 
met the obstruction of the city it precipitated itself in 
great bursts of water. The brightness of the great 
cloud grew dark and brightened again. Its opponent 
clouds were tossed and whipped like a great souffle 
beaten with a gigantic spoon, the lightning tinting it 
opalescently. 


THE FATEFUL HAND. 


93 


In less than ten minutes it caused damage to prop- 
erty that cannot be replaced in years and loss of life 
horrible to dwell upon. It swept a city from end to 
end, attacked a swollen river, lined with shipping, 
made of it a waste of muddy water, showing here and 
there on its surface a wreck, and rushed on through 
the little city across the bridge, demolishing it most 
utterly. It left behind a long trail of blood and twist- 
ed ruin. 

Every one’s thought went out toward the loved 
ones. The cloud spectacle was lost in the dread of 
the storm. Personal fear was forgotten in suspense 
as to others’ safety and the roar of the wind was not 
heard, for it deadened hearing. 

Through the center of St. Louis there runs a depres- 
sion at the water shed of old Mill Creek with lower 
land to the south than to the north. This valley was 
a groove for the storm, which lapped over for a mile on 
the south side. Due east the wind came down the 
ravine and over the lower, land for the south end. 

Behind the wind rolled and bounded and leaped 
the twisting tornado cloud like a great beast. As it 
rose from the earth it overleaped obstacles, but when it 
came down again it crushed everything in its path. 

Trees went down, roofs were lifted off buildings 
and then the buildings were crushed down upon their 
own foundations. The houses were not blown away. 


94 


THE FATEFUL HAND. 


The wind simply fell upon and smashed them, then 
rebounded, lifted them up only to come down again 
a little further on, after skipping certain spots, like 
great cannon shot ricochetting. 

It swept over Tower Grove and Lafayette Parks, 
and, when it had passed, these groves looked like the 
banks of reeds in which a behemoth had wallowed 
with mighty thrashings. 

Far out where the storm first struck it met with 
an obstruction worthy of its force — the great new steel 
skeleton factory of Liggett & Meyer. The steel 
beams and girders were as straws. They bent and 
broke, and in an instant the wind had gone and passed 
roaring away from a tumultuous ruin, representing a 
million of dollars, over nine dead workmen. 

Factories collapsed like eggshells. Homes fell in 
upon themselves or walls fell out upon people whose 
shrieks and moans were heard as an echo of the rush- 
ing storm. In the path of the storm was the City 
Hospital, filled with the sickly poor. 

It was as frail as the human beings it sheltered, as 
flimsy as municipal charity could make it at the maxi- 
mum of expense. 

Its standing was a miracle in a calm. It crumbled 
as the storm rolled over it, just as it was known it 
would crumble for twenty years if it did not serve as 
a pyre for the paupers. 


THE FATEFUL HAND. 


95 


Homes crashed in upon women, who prayed while 
their children laughed at the elemental din. 

Saloons fell in on men while they were drinking. 
Trolley cars were overturned, and on the streets and 
through the ruins on either side were wriggling trolley 
wires sputtering blue flame. Horses, broken-backed 
from falling poles, neighed piteously. 

Women, wringing their hands in the streets, 
groped about for their husbands and children 
in the semi-darkness. Hurrying through the 
torrents were wild forms with faces gashed and 
bloody. 

There were men and women maimed, lying in the 
streets, unable to move. There were other forms here 
and there, faces up and faces down. From the ruins 
of whole rows of houses which had fallen, there burst 
forms. The streets were impassable with roofs, wreck- 
age of walls, overturned wagons, and horses were 
killed in many places by the fallen trolley wires. 

In the path of the storm there was a clear vision 
backward where had been a forest of chimneys and 
smokestacks. All along the streets were cars “dead,” 
with the light from the greenish yellow sky reflected 
from their windows. 

South St. Louis looked, the next day, as if it had 
been shelled by a whole navy where the wind and cloud 


96 


THE FATEFUL HAND. 


had swept down the valley with occasional deployings 
of destructiveness in the north. 

It swept northward over the old-time business sec- 
tion. Here walls went down and roofs went up. 
Metal roofs went flopping through the air as news- 
papers do in an ordinary gale, and the air was dense 
with great debris and the gravel of some thousands 
of roofs. The great modern offlce buildings broke the 
storm. It sank down into the streets, caromed and 
soared again, and then it descended upon the river. 

The boats moored to the wharves were whirled into 
midstream, battered, crushed, driven, lifted up, over- 
turned and sunk or strewn upon the Illinois shore. 
And on the tawny water under the tawny wall of 
clouds, the forms of men, helplessly waving their arms 
or clinging to spars or planks, drifted until they sank. 

The storm struck the east approach to the Eads 
Bridge. The tower fell. The upper works went away. 
An express passenger train was blown off the high 
trestle. The entrance to the city by rail was com- 
pletely blocked By ruins. The town of East St. Louis 
was devastated. The great elevators were razed. 
Hotels, teeming with people, were flattened out. Stores 
and mills were crushed in. Frame dwellings were 
torn into kindling wood. 

The water works were destroyed. Then fire lit up 
the desolation, so that the affrighted living might dig 


THE FATEFUL HAND. 


97 


■ 


* 


out the dying and the dead. There was a respite for 
half an hour, then- came a little brother to the first 
storm, imitating its awful play but practically harm- 
less. There was no more harm to do. 

The fates had been sufficiently served by the winds 
for one day, but all around the ruin there played during 
the long, sorrowful night such pyrotechnics as one 
might have fancied were the celebration by the furies 
of the wind demon’s victory. 

As the first fury of the storm passed away and men 
dared to look into each other’s faces, the air grew thick 
with rumors. Nothing was talked of but death. 

Brave men, with heads cool and hearts true, real- 
ized, as soon as the full fury of the visitation was spent, 
that there was work for them to do. The City Dispen- 
sary naturally became the central point of news and 
succor. Confronting the Health Department was a 
task so frightful in its magnitude that even the minds 
of those upon whom must devolve the task of taking 
care of the injured and dead were partially stunned. 
The rumor that all the patients in the City Hospital 
were dead could not be verified or disproved because 
of the lack of telephone facilities. Early in the storm 
an alarm of fire had been turned in from the poorhouse 
and, in the heart's of those who knew, was the sick- 
ening thought that, perhaps, all the dependent poor of 

the city had been swiftly ushered to the great beyond. 

7 


98 


THE FATEFUL HAND 


Every minute, news of fresh horrors reached the Dis- 
pensary. 

Ambulances began to reach the City Hall loaded 
down with wounded and dead before any measures 
looking to their care could be taken. Physicians, full 
of energy, willing to do their part, came from every 
district in the city that had not been touched by the 
storm. Volunteers poured in from every direction, 
ready to dig and delve or do anything to assist the 
authorities. The militia — or individual members of it 
— offered aid that was thankfully accepted. A tem- 
porary hospital was secured, hasty preparations were 
made for the accommodation of victims. About the 
time the rain ceased to hammer the city with heavy, in- 
sistent force, there was some system arranged out of 
the general confusion — an incomplete system, it is 
true, but a system. 

All night long, St. Louis and East St. Louis were 
cities alone in their terrible desolation, almost entirely 
cut off from communication with the rest of the world, 
and without exception their streets were dark tunnels, 
and their homes the homes of fearful people. Dead 
and dying, death and injury, were the sole topic of 
conversation from Baden to Carondelet and from the 
river to the suburbs in the west. To those who slept 
came dreams of rushing storms carrying the bloody 
victims of their fury in outstretched arms. To those 


THE FATEFUL HAND. 


99 


who spent the night in work in the devastated district 
came a surfeit of sickening experiences that will haunt 
them for months to come. And in all the horror of 
the black night and its terrible developments reigned 
a feeling of dread for what might be disclosed by the 
day. When the first gray coloring in the eastern sky 
gave evidence of the coming of the light, the watchers 
gazed with mingled feelings of thankfulness and fear. 
Objects became discernible dimly as the sun mounted 
higher on the course of his daily journey, emphasizing 
the ruin that was rather felt than seen in the gloom of 
the night. * 

And out, into the midst of the furious tempest, out 
into the awful night of horror and peril, Basil Manton 
made his frenzied way ; but not alone, for following fast 
upon his flying steps, Edward Leslie plunged into the 
gathering darkness, without a feeling of fear, with 
but the one thought of saving him, the beloved of his 
well-loved darling. 


CHAPTER X. 


THE SCENE THE SUN SHONE ON. 

The morning sun dawned bright, clear and smiling 
and gazed down upon the scene of wreck and ruin that 
had distorted the fair features of the city in the few 
fleeting hours that had elapsed since its scorching 
rays had been blotted out by the angry phalanx of 
death-laden clouds that came out of the southwest. 
The searching beams of light from the orb of day 
pierced everywhere, into the inmost recesses of the 
battlefield that had been swept by the bloody ravages 
of the devouring elements and laid naked the awful 
destruction. The awful sense of desolation and 
destruction that had oppressed the citizens during the 
terrible hours of the long night, when the mantle of* 
darkness covered with a charitable pall the sight of 
the ruin, gave way to a sense of overpowering horror 
that could find no adequate expression in words when 
the mantle was stripped and exposed the ghastly, gap- 
ing wounds in all their hideous nakedness. 

From the extreme southwestern limits of the city, 
where the monster first descended, to the northeastern 


too 


THE FATEFUL HAND. 


IOI 


portion along the river bank, where it left its victims 
quivering and writhing in helpless misery, to seek fresh 
prey in East St. Louis, the path of the tornado was 
marked by a tangled, chaotic, distorted and dismem- 
bered mass of wreckage that w'.as appalling in its ex- 
tent and awe-inspiring in its character and variety. 

The furious elements ended in a few brief minutes' 
the works of years, and with fiendish hands set the 
stage for a scene of destruction beyond the power of 
man to conceive. 

The citizens who had not thought of sleep all 
through the night, and wdio had groped their way over 
the trunks of fallen trees and through meshes of 
tangled wires, urged on by the groans and cries of 
scores of victims pinned beneath crumbled walls and 
masses of joists and rafters, and burdened by the fear- 
ful knowledge that scores were lying silent and beyond 
human aid, looked upon a waste that they will never 
forget. 

These people had carried no idle fears regarding 
the storms of the prairies, whose leveling of scattered 
farmhouses and the frame dwellings of small towns 
was of almost daily occurrence for weeks preceding. 
They were now witnesses to the fact that the rage of 
the elements has no partiality, and that it dreads to 
strike the masonry of the metropolis no more than a 
cross-roads schoolhouse. 


102 


THE FATEFUL HAND. 


No part of the city escaped damage. Scarcely a 
building of all the great structures of stone and steel in 
the very heart of the city escaped. A portion of the 
great iron roof of the Chamber of Commerce hung 
like a limp towel from a cable across the street. 
Another great portion, rolled into a ball as big as a 
fair-sized house, lay on the pavement below it. The 
tin and iron roofs of other huge buildings had been 
stripped from their places and blown away as though 
they were as many sheets of paper. Not a business 
block in the city was without its share of broken win- 
dows, in many cases every pane of glass having been 
removed as cleanly as though by the hands of a glazier. 

The wind in its capers of smashing glass seemed in 
many instances to care about nothing else. Screens 
in the windows of the Planters’ Hotel were not even 
bent, while the quarter-inch plate glass behind them 
was smashed to atoms. But while the storm played 
in some quarters, it went mad in others, and respect 
for neither life nor property stayed its mania for de- 
struction. 

The south side of St. Louis was almost a waste. 
Beginning just south of the railroad tracks as they 
curve away from the Union depot, and extending as 
far south as Victor street, and from the river on the 
east to Union street on the west, the scene was one of 
desolation. This is the area where, but the day be- 


THE FATEFUL HAND. 


103 


fore, stood substantial business houses and pretentious 
dwellings. This district is two miles square, and 
death was spread over it all. The homes of the poor, 
the well-to-do and the rich had met the wrath of the 
storm and bowed alike before it. 

Stone fronts and humble frames were both made 
level with the earth. Factories and markets and ware- 
houses and the solid power-houses of the municipal 
corporations were crumbled and in piles of ruins. 

The tornado knew no religion. It skipped lightly 
over the towering breweries, satisfied with breaking a 
few windows and tearing off a slight portion of the 
tin roofing, and it leveled the churches. The great 
brewhouse of the National Brewing Company, just 
over the viaduct from the Union depot was only slight- 
ly scratched. The entire block of substantial brick 
warehouses and stores on the opposite side of Eigh- 
teenth street was blown into an unrecognizable mass. 

All through the day, bright overhead, but sad with 
realities, thousands of people thronged the streets of 
the stricken district. It was not alone curiosity that 
took the population among the ruins. There was 
nothing in them to interest frivolous inclinations. The 
crowds of men and women, and fashionably dressed 
girls, blocked the streets where wreckage had not al- 
ready made them impassable, and surged apart only in 
response to the clanging gongs of the ambulance and 


104 


THE FATEFUL HAND. 


of the dead wagon. West of Broadway no street cars 
were running. There was no power, either of cable 
or electricity, to propel them. The cars were scattered 
along the tracks where they were when the storm 
broke Wednesday evening. The power-houses were 
in ruins, the cars themselves were in a greater or lesser 
state of demolition. Some stood upright on the tracks 
with their roofs jammed against the flooring; others 
lay on their sides, and still others upside down in the 
gutters, where the wind had dashed them. The equi- 
pages of the rich, carrying their occupants on tours of 
observation, and the wagons carrying the injured to 
the hospitals and the dead to the morgue intermingled. 
A yellow bakery wagon, the driver of which clanged 
his bell through the devastated streets, was an inter- 
loper that attracted small attention from the house- 
wives whose homes were without walls or roofs. 

One street of the district was just about like 
another. Some vied with others for scenes of deso- 
lation simply because they had contained more mater- 
ial to make debris out of. Chestnut street ranked 
high. Along it had been strung a network of tele- 
graph and telephone wires and cables. Glancing up 
and down the street this morning, as far as the eye 
could reach, the street was rendered impassable by 
huge poles, snapped off at their base. They lay from 
curb to curb. Along the street was strewn a tangled 


THE FATEFUL HAND. 


105 


mass of the wires and cables that caught in the feet of 
horses when venturesome drivers sought to cross. 

To the stranger going into the district from the 
Union depot the ruin began at Eighteenth and Gratiot 
streets. Chouteau avenue was a labyrinth of felled 
shade trees. At the corner of Chouteau and Ste. Ange 
avenue stood the walls of the Cracker Castle, an im- 
posing mansion of the old times and famous for its 
local historic connections. No bombardment by 
modern cannon could have made it a more complete 
wreck. Every residence in what, in the earlier days, 
was the abode of the aristocracy of St. Louis met the 
fate of the castle. 

A few minutes’ drive through this section took the 
visitor to what was formerly the city hospital. 

No more painful evidence of the tornado’s work 
existed than the ruins of this hospital. Most remark- 
able is the fact that every one of the 420 patients did 
not meet death. 

The hospital stood on an eminence two blocks 
square, bounded on the north by Carroll avenue, on 
the south by Lafayette, on the east by Ste. Ange and 
on the west by Dolman. The structure was in the 
form of the three sides of a hollow square. It was of 
red brick and the east wing and the south part had 
stood for years. The west wing, of newer construc- 
tion, met the hardest fate. Division M, a one-story 


10 6 THE FATEFUL HAND. 

addition to the west wing, was devoted to the acute 
surgical cases and contained thirteen patients. How 
any one of them escaped is a marvel. This portion of 
the great building was in an instant turned into a rub- 
bish heap, the helpless patients were buried under the 
debris, and yet only a few of them were taken out dead. 

Immediately adjoining the ward for the acute sur- 
gical cases was a part of the building four stories high 
devoted to medical cases. On the fourth floor were 
the consumptives. This part of the building was also 
completely demolished. The consumptive patients 
were carried, beds and all, right into the courtyard on 
top of the other debris, where the rain pelted upon 
them. 

The east wall was blown out of the acute medical 
ward and the patients there were carried out into the 
hospital grounds by the elements. James Dunn and 
William Berger, two patients of the surgical ward, 
were killed outright. How many more is not known. 
Francesca Rodriguez, a servant of the Mexican consul 
in St. Louis, was in one of the other wards and died 
from fright. Harvey Archibald, another patient, also 
died from fright. 

Dr. O. Sutter, superintendent of the hospital, at- 
tributes the escape from death by any of the patients 
to the fact that when the storm burst, by some im- 
pulse, those who were able rushed into the old east 


THE FATEFUL HAND. 


107 


wing, where the damage was not so great. But in 
the part where the wreck was not complete, the storm 
played the queerest kind of a freak. Chunks of plas- 
ter were taken out of interior walls and havoc played 
with the furniture. Dr. Sutter watched the sky from 
one of the hospital windows, and saw a twisting cloud 
swoop down upon the Peabody school, a block and a 
half to the west. Then the darkness came, and amid 
the shrieks and cries of the patients the hospital walls 
were torn to pieces. 

The work of removing the patients from within the 
half-wrecked walls of the old part of the hospital went 
on all day. The poor creatures, many of whom had 
sustained additional injuries in the wreck of the build- 
ing, lay upon stretchers, in the corridors of the old 
wing, waiting for their turn. The floors were an inch 
deep with water. Among the ruins without, cripples 
carefully picked their way or were led about by kind 
hands. A procession of ambulances waited in the 
grounds, as litter after litter was carefully carried out 
to be borne away to other institutions. A mongrel 
dog that was presented to Dr. Sutter by a poor man on 
whom he once performed an operation wandered about 
and howled dismally. Dr. Sutter hopes that the muni- 
cipality will now grant an appropriation for a new and 
modern hospital that has for years been demanded. 

West from the city hospital, on Lafayette avenue, 


io8 


THE FATEFUL HAND. 


there stood, before the storm, the old-time aristocratic 
homes of St. Louis. This portion of the town was the 
abode of the fashionable ten years ago, before the swell 
west end was built up. The houses had stone fronts, and 
many of them were imposing in architecture. They are 
now ruins that cannot be said to be picturesque, but 
are still called homes by the patriarchs of the Mound 
City society. A drive along the avenue revealed queer 
scenes as well as sad. In some cases, front walls were 
left standing, while the roofs were off next door, and, 
further along, a house with a chunk blown out re- 
vealed the interior like a scene on the stage where the 
actions are set in an upper chamber. In some' cases 
two side-walls were blown completely out, the roof and 
front and rear walls being left intact. Not a house for 
blocks remained uninjured. 

A little farther west on Lafayette avenue, where 
business has encroached on private life, stood the ruins 
of a stable. Above the first story there remained a 
single slab of brick, a part of the wall that bore the 
signs of the owners. One single word was left in 
huge black letters: 


UNDERTAKERS. 


THE FATEFUL HAND. 


109 


A little farther back of it lay an overturned house. 

Lafayette Park, the pride of South St. Louis, had 
been turned into a jungle. Its beautiful shade-trees 
were ruined. All left standing had been divested of 
every branch. Here, another curious freak of the 
storm was exhibited. Some of the trees were broken 
down with the trunks pointing west, and others 
with trunks, pointing east. The park looked 
as desolate as a tract of charred pine in the northern 
woods waiting to be sold for taxes. Above the jungle 
could be seen the statue of Lafayette. 

Whittemore place and Albion place were in ruins, 
the Lafayette Park Presbyterian Church, a mass of 
rubbish, the Mount Calvary Protestant Episcopal 
Church, a complete wreck. A portion of the Bohe- 
mian Church tower remained standing. The house 
of the Union Club, the swell society organization of 
the south side, was demolished. So were all the other 
churches and' clubhouses in the district, all of them 
structures of stone and brick. The walls of the chapel 
of the Episcopal Orphans’ Home were blown in. 

The homes of the millionaires of Compton Hill suf- 
fered with the rest, but, this far west, the havoc was 
not so great as elsewhere. It was limited to broken 
windows, occasional holes in the roofs and fallen chim- 
neys. But the lawns of the millionaires looked like the 
back yards of the junkshops skirting the alley L road 


iio 


THE FATEFUL HAND. 


in Chicago. They were piled full of tin roofs, arc 
lamps, neighbors’ fences, gas posts and other things 
the owners had no use for. 

From the crest of Compton, in the valley to the 
western distance, could be seen the ruins of Liggett & 
Myers’ Tobacco Company factory, where a score of 
men met death by the falling of the walls, a spot where 
the storm dipped down just to show that it could seize 
upon a building with no immediately surrounding 
structures. 

The observer, weary of scenes of devastation, re- 
traced his steps, taking a street further south, only to 
find more destruction. At California and Ann avenues 
there was a frame house, and not a vestige of it re- 
mained. On the ground where it stood were carpets, 
a piano and other parlor furniture unmoved, and ruined 
simply by the pelting rain. At one spot, the guide 
pointed out the house of a Mrs. Ryan, 90 years old, 
who died from fright during the storm. 

Coming back east, at the corner of Seventh and 
Rutger streets, were the ruins of a tenement from 
which fifteen bodies were removed. 

The power-house of the cable company operating 
the lines west of Broadway was made a total wreck. 
The Soulard Market, at Carroll and Eighth, was for 
days a pile of ruins. Men were digging for victims 
thought to be under them. A German woman, who 


THE FATEFUL HAND. 


hi 


spoke only broken English, haunted the market ruins 
during the afternoon of the next day. She was look- 
ing for her husband, who was seen seeking shelter near 
the building just before the walls fell. She wrung 
her hands, and crowds of sympathetic women gathered 
about her. 

Across the street from the market place a cheap 
tent-show had been exhibiting. The performers 
rushed toward the market when the storm broke, and 
many of them are thought to be in the ruins. 

From the ruins of the Ottenard Furniture Factory, 
corner of Broadway and Soulard street, the body of 
the owner was recovered the next morning. The 
body of his wife was taken out the night before. 

Broadway was made a wreck for several blocks. 
Two portions of telegraph poles hung on signs and 
from cables. How they got there is the secret of the 
tornado. In the railroad yards to the east, freight cars 
were overturned. Just east of that were the wrecked 
cotton compress-houses, roofless and showing thous- 
ands of dollars’ worth of soggy cotton. 

Near by stood a house where the occupants came 
downstairs in the open air. One wall was blown out. 
A hall lamp, six inches from where the wall was, had 
not even a crack in the glass. 

At intervals of less than a hundred yards through 
the entire path of the storm the crumbled masses of 


1 12 


THE FATEFUL HAND. 


debris piled high into the air that had once marked the 
location of a residence or factory, marked the burial 
place of numbers of human beings, crushed out of all 
semblance of humanity. 




CHAPTER XI. 


AN AWFUL. FEAR. 

“Ned!” the word burst warningly from the lips of 
Hugo Latimer as Leslie sprang down the steps in 
pursuit of Basil Manton. 

But the cry was unheeded. The young civil en- 
gineer seemed to have become oblivious to everything 
save the fleeing figure dimly outlined in the distance 
before him. 

“They will both perish,” is the thought that cuts 
like a knife to the heart of the man who stands peering 
into the grayish, greenish semi-darkness, holding back 
the heavy door as he endeavors to pierce the gloom. 

He cannot follow. Even now to his ears comes 
the increasing roar of the terrible storm. He fears for 
the safety of his home; the air is becoming clouded 
with. the dust of mortar and plaster which is arising 
from hundreds of wrecked homes, within a perilously 
short distance of his residence. 

And then, like a flash with a weight of reproach, 
the girl comes to his mind. In their haste both these 
men have forgotten the delicate woman who has fallen 


8 


118 


THE FATEFUL HAND. 


114 

in a faint upon the floor of the laboratory. From her 
lips has come the horror-breeding word “Cyclone,” 
and then, in the weakness of terror, she has fallen to 
the floor, and they, observing at the same moment the 
fleeing form of Basil, have hurried after him, leaving 
her in what may prove awful peril. 

“God forgive me!” he prays, as he closes and se- 
curely fastens the door, which at the moment of fast- 
ening is attacked by the fury of the blast. 

“God forgive me and spare us,” he prays again, 
feeling the strong house tremble. He realizes the 
danger in which they are placed. He sees the fear- 
drawn faces of the servants as they crowd into the hall, 
filling the space with whispering prayers. 

“Sta y where you are,” he commands. “You will 
be safer here than outside. I believe the house will 
stand,” and then, seeing the white face of Mrs. Easter- 
day among the others, he bids her follow him, and 
springs up the stairs to the laboratory. 

He finds the bulbs of the X rays fairly trembling 
with the force of the power generated by the swiftly 
working dynamo. In the brilliant light he beholds the 
form of the unconscious girl upon the floor. She is 
lying face downward, her lower limbs drawn up as 
though by convulsions. He steps quickly to her side, 
as Mrs. Easterday enters the apartment. “Heaven 
help us,” she gasps, but he checks her further utter- 


THE FATEFUL HAND. 


US 


ance by calling attention to the unconscious girl, and 
in her pity she forgets her alarm. 

They raise the girl from her position, and set about 
restoring her to consciousness, and in a short time 
their efforts are rewarded with success. The white 
lips tremble, the eyelids, fringed by long lashes of ebon 
hue, quiver and part. A word escapes her lips, it is 
the name “Basil.” 

“Come! Arouse!” commands the doctor in his 
deep voice. With an effort the girl sits up, and looks 
about her. 

The wind has played sad havoc among the jars, re- 
torts and instruments of the laboratory. Destruction 
is on every side. The curtains, torn in shreds, are still 
violently whipping in the blast. 

“Close the windows!” cries the doctor, and the 
housekeeper hastens to obey him. 

It is a difficult task, but she is successful. 

' With a glance of terror Esther looks about her. 
Through the windows the awful scene of tumult can 
be seen. She swiftly darts her glance here and there, 
and finally her eyes rest upon the table. It is unoc- 
cupied. 

“Basil,” she whispers, staring at the table. 

“It will be all right,” replies Latimer, to assure 

her. 


Where is he?” 


n6 


THE FATEFUL HAND. 


“You shall know later. Come, be strong.” 

She clasps her hands in an anguish of fear. 

The scene is such an awful one. 

She has not fully recovered. 

“Oh! Basil, my brother, my brother,” she wails, feel- 
ing that all is not well with him, giving vent to her 
agony of alarm. 

The doctor assists her to her feet and to a reclining 
chair. Mrs. Easterday, glancing fearfully out of the 
windows, draws near, and stands by the chair. 

In as few words as possible the doctor relates all 
that has happened. 

“Your brother will be safe, Leslie has gone after 
him,” he concludes. 

“Edward?” she murmurs, and then she seems re- 
lieved. A sigh wells up from her breast, but it is an 
evidence of relief. The mention of that loved name 
has given her hope and comfort. 

“We had best go below,” says Latimer, “although 
I believe most of the immediate danger has passed, but 
we cannot tell with certainty. It would be safer down 
stairs.” 

The girl shudders. 

“I cannot bear to think of being where I cannot 
look out and note the approach of danger,” she says. 
“Can we not remain here?” 

The doctor gives his consent after a moment of 


THE FATEFUL HAND. 


n 7 


hesitation, and, providing seats for the "housekeeper 
and himself they sit on either side of the overwrought 
nervous girl, each taking one of her trembling hands. 

The tornado, which has spent much of its force, has 
passed, and left the Latimer residence uninjured. The 
lives of its occupants have been spared, and from the 
elevated position of the laboratory these three sit, as 
watchers in a tower, and gaze awestricken out upon 
the great battle which is raging in the heart of the city. 

They see the combined attack of the Storm King 
and the Fire King upon St. Louis. Upon the roof 
the rain descends in torrents. Conversation is impos- 
sible even if they had desired it. The roar of the rain 
rises above all other sounds. 

To their ears comes faintly at times the clang of 
the gongs of the fire engines, as the brave, lion-hearted 
firemen hasten to their duty. From the long lines of 
telegraph poles come flashing pillars of blue flames. 
Even in the room the force of the electrical fluid can 
be felt. 

With an exclamation Latimer rises and turns off 
the current which has been furnishing them light. 
Now all is darkness, save from the light of the storm, 
which comes now and then in fitful glare and vivid 
flashes from the playing lightning. 

Buildings sway and creak in the powerful blast. 


n8 


THE FATEFUL HAND. 


To their eyes in the dim light they seem like immense, 
gigantic shadows, waving in the distance. 

A red glow filling the sky tells of the work of the 
Fire King. But to their minds it is evident that the 
rain will serve to largely undo the work of the other 
elements. 

Spellbound they watch, and then the fierce wind 
ceases, and naught but the roar of the steady down- 
pour from the laden clouds reaches their ears. And 
out in all this storm are Basil and Edward! 

This thought comes flashing again to the mind of 
the girl. Oppression begins to weigh her down again, 
but she throws the load aside and with perfect con- 
fidence in her lover, prays God to aid him. The doc- 
tor glances at his watch in the fitful light of a match. 
The hands indicate thirty minutes past six. Not over 
two hours have passed since the first approach of the 
storm, and yet, it has seemed like so many days. 

“It is over,” he says, “we had best go down and 
have some tea.” 

“Not yet,” pleads the girl. “I dread going down.” 

He humors her, but directs the housekeeper to 
have the evening meal prepared, and she leaves them 
for that purpose. Silently the two sit looking out upon 
the scene marked by clouds, still rushing here and 
there, and the ruddy sky, declaring the presence of the 
Fire King. 


THE FATEFUL HAND. 


119 

Night grows on apace. It comes early. Mrs. 
Easterday brings a dainty little repast, and of it the 
two make a pretense of partaking in the light of a 
student lamp, which the doctor lights and places upon 
the table. As they are eating the eastern horizon be- 
gins to grow bright, and through the blinding rain 
long tongues of fire can be seen mounting high in the 
air. The doctor rises, and finding a powerful night 
glass, directs it upon the scene. 

“East St. Louis is on fire,” he exclaims, in tones 
of horror. “God help all who are out in this storm. 
Thank God we are preserved and sheltered.” 

His words bring again the thought of Basil and 
Edward to the mind of Esther. They are out in the 
storm. They are in the midst of danger. 

She can no longer control her grief. The scalding 
tears force their seething way to her beautiful eyes. 

“Oh, my brother, my lover,” she cries, and falls 
upon her knees. 

The doctor essays to comfort her, but is not, this 
time^ successful. 

“If they do not return in an hour I will go in search 
of them,” he assures her. 

“I also. Permit me to go,” she beseeches him. 

He hesitates. He realizes the utter impossibility, 
to say nothing of the danger, of this weak girl going 
out into the storm and wreck of the night ; but how can 


120 


THE FATEFUL HAND. 


he refuse her? He concludes it will be best to wait 
until morning. There is nothing to be gained in 
going out at this time. It will be impossible and im- 
practicable to institute successful search in the dark- 
ness and tempest. He has really given the promise 
to quiet her, and now raising her to her feet, he pre- 
sents the results of his rapid meditations, and suc- 
ceeds at last in quieting her with the promise that the 
morning shall find them in readiness to begin the 
search for the absent ones, if the night does not bring 
them. 

She yields to his solicitations to go with Mrs. East- 
erday to her apartment and seek the rest she so sorely 
needs, and so they descend to the rooms below; Esther 
to her bed, and to sleep, that finally overpowers her; 
Latimer to his study, to form plans for the morrow’s 
work. The hours pass. To his ears comes the 
strokes of the clock marking the time until midnight. 
He feels no disposition to rest, and finally steps to the 
door and looks out upon the night. The rain has 
ceased, but darkness as impenetrable as Stygian gloom 
confronts him. 

An uncontrollable impulse urges him out into the * 
darkness. Something seems to bid him go, and yield- 
ing, he returns to the library, places a revolver in the 
side pocket of his sack coat, and taking up a small 


THE FATEFUL HAND. 


121 


dark lantern, he goes out upon the street. Enveloped 
in a long, dark Mackintosh, his head covered with a 
broad-brimmed slouch hat, out into the darkness, in 
answer to a voice that seems calling him on. 


CHAPTER XII. 


A DIRECTING HAND. 

To expain the impulse that induced Hugo Latimer 
to dare the danger and darkness of that awful night of 
May 27th would be impossible. 

Who among the wise men of earth can give any 
satisfactory reason for the impulses that spring unso- 
licited into being, and which will not down at com- 
mand? 

Who can say from whence come the dark shadows 
of coming evil, the portentous premonition of fore- 
boding calamity? There is more in life than that 
which is evident to the senses. There is something 
beyond all that we see and know. We do not always 
heed the voice which speaks and directs. We do not 
always heed the warning which comes, but Latimer, 
yielding to the impulse, hesitated but a moment, and 
then set out to obey it. 

The streets are dark, silent and deserted. From 
the fact of the darkness, he is persuaded that the storm 
has worked great damage to both the electric light sys- 
tem and the gas works. He proceeds carefully and finds 


122 


THE FATEFUL HAND. 


123 


his progress necessarily slow, the sidewalk being en- 
cumbered with piles of masonry that mark the fury of 
the storm. The fitful light of his dark lantern reveals 
scenes of destruction and devastation that fill him with 
a sickening feeling of mental distress, but above it 
ascends a prayer of thanksgiving that his beautiful 
home has escaped. As he proceeds he finds the ruin 
more extensive than he has expected. Surely many 
must have perished in the awful blast. The encum- 
bered walk forces him to take to the street, and here 
he is soon brought to recognize the cause of the dark- 
ness. 

Wires hang dangling from dismantled poles. Elec- 
tric light globes are shattered and completely wrecked. 
Telegraph poles are spread in every direction, and 
darkness proclaims its victory over light. 

He makes the best of his way down town. The 
distance is great, but in the fascination of gazing about 
on the ruin revealed in the narrow swath of light cut 
by the bull’s-eye of his lantern, blocks are traversed 
without knowledge. Huge piles of debris, masonry, 
lumber, great trees uprooted, broken telegraph poles, 
tangled wires, overturned vehicles, household furnish- 
ings and litter of every conceivable description, blown 
into one conglomerate mass, so cumber the streets that 
he soon finds his way obstructed and the street im- 
passable. 


124 


THE FATEFUL HAND. 


He is at the intersection of two streets; he turns 
to the right, and there is brought to know that the 
scene of destruction is made the place of harvest for 
the night-birds of prey that fatten upon the property 
of others. 

Two men come suddenly upon him. The lignt of 
his lantern shines upon their ill-favored faces. 

Involuntarily he places his hand into the pocket of 
his coat, and draws his revolver. The next moment 
comes the gruff command: 

“Throw up your hands !” and he knows they intend 
robbing him. 

With lightning rapidity he turns the slide of his 
lantern, and all is dark. The report of a pistol rings 
out on the air, and a bullet whizzes by his head. A 
narrow escape. 

_ He returns the shot. A cry of pain, a muttered 
curse, and he knows his bullet has met a living ob- 
struction. Then he flees, and is soon far from the 
scene. 

Breathless, he pauses in the shadow of a long build- 
ing. He has lost knowledge of locality. Landmarks 
have been swept away, but in the light which he turns 
upon the walls of the building, he soon recognizes the 
structure as being one of those asylums for the insane 
for which St. Louis is noted. 

Quickly flashing the light in every direction, he 


THE FATEFUL HAND. 


125 


observes that the building has been partly wrecked. 
Much of one side has been carried away, and the in- 
terior stands revealed. 

His heart grows heavy with the thought that some 
of the helpless inmates have perished, how many the 
morning will reveal. 

He is about to turn away, when to his ears comes 
the sound of sobbing. Some one is evidently in great 
distress, and the tone is that of a woman. 

Sympathy and curiosity aroused, he follows the 
sound. It leads him over a pile of debris, a vast 
mound of bricks and mortar, to the rear of the build- 
ing. 

He notes several flights of stairs leading from the 
ground to the upper stories. The storm has passed 
them by, although they have been exposed to it en- 
tirely unprotected, being on the outside of the struc- 
ture. 

The voice of distress becomes more apparent as he 
approaches these steps. In fact, it appears to pro- 
ceed from under them. The next moment the light is 
directed to the spot, and he beholds a woman, a gray- 
haired woman, clad only in her night robe, crouching 
close to the wall, under the stairs. 

She looks up, as the rays reveal her place of hiding, 
and he sees a pale, drawn face, eyes swimming in tears, 
and features convulsed in fear. 


126 


THE FATEFUL HAND. 


“I am doing no harm, sir,” she cries, in a thin voice, 
almost a shriek. “I only wish to escape. I am not 
crazy. They say I am, but I am not.” 

He draws nearer. 

“Courage, poor soul,” he says, tenderly. “I will 
not harm you. How came you here?” 

Skilled in the care of the insane, he treats her as 
one of sound mind, knowing it is the best way to gain 
coherent answers. 

“I had gone to bed very early. He had been to see 
me, and told me my children were dead. I went to 
my little room to sob and cry through the night. Then 
came the storm. The awful cyclone. I know it was a 
cyclone. I felt it all through me. I could not be mis- 
taken. I have suffered so much from the cyclone! It 
tore down the wall, but left me unharmed. It carried 
all the furniture out upon the street, even my clothing, 
but it did not touch me. It proved my friend, for it 
tore open the door, and showed me a way of escape, 
and I accepted it. I came down the stairs, but when 
I got to the bottom I grew afraid. It was raining 
so hard, and everything looked so strange, so I hid 
myself under the stairs, waiting for morning, and I 
am so cold. You will not take me back?” 

The Words, pathetically spoken, are not the utter- 
ances of one insane. Of this Hugo Latimer is sure. 
Perhaps the poor creature is afflicted with temporary 


THE FATEFUL HAND. 


127 


mania, and the storm has restored in part her reason. 
Be it as it may, he determines to aid her. She cannot 
remain in her present position, and it will be imprac- 
ticable to endeavor to persuade her to return to the 
asylum, even if it were possible. She seems so fear- 
ful, so helpless, and there js something in her face that 
takes him back to his boyhood days, to the mother 
now sleeping in the grave. Yes, he will help her. 
She shall go to his home, and at a favorable time, he 
will report the circumstance to the managers of the 
asylum, and all will be well. So he puts out his hand 
to the shivering woman, and says: 

“You shall not be taken back to the asylum, at 
least not for the present. Come with me, I will pro- 
vide you with a place to stay and the clothing you 
need. Come, we had best be off at once.” 

She directs a swift, inquiring glance up into his 
eyes and then she takes the outstretched hand and 
rises. There is that in Hugo Latimer’s face that in- 
spires confidence. He removes his Mackintosh and 
bids her put it on, and then carefully guiding her, he 
turns his steps homeward. The institution they have 
left marks a familiar locality, so it is without difficulty 
that he makes his way, and by a circuitous route, 
avoids the wreck-strewn path of the storm. 

The clocks are striking three, as he inserts the 
key into the lock of the hall door, and enters his resi- 


128 


THE FATEFUL HAND. 


dence. Mrs. Easterday is sharing Esther’s apart- 
ment, and it is not a difficult matter to arouse her. 
Within the hour the woman to whom Hugo Latimer 
has been guided by a directing hand, is robed in clean, 
dry night robes, and given a place wherein to rest. 

“God bless you,” are her words as she turns from 
the young physician and submits to the care of the 
housekeeper. He bows his head as if to receive the 
blessing. A mother’s blessing, he almost feels. 
Somebody’s mother, if not his own. 

In the faint light of breaking dawn, Hugo Latimer 
goes to his bed to catch a few hours’ sleep. 

A day is dawning that means much work for 
him — a day in which the search for the missing ones 
must be begun, for his first question to Mrs. Easterday 
has been: “Have they returned?” and her answer, 
“No, sir.” 


CHAPTER XIII. 


THE BEGINNING OF THE SEARCH. 

At 7:30 Latimer is aroused by the voice of Mrs. 
Easterclay, calling through the speaking tube, which 
connects his sleeping apartment with the hall. He 
replies to her. 

“I hate to disturb you, sir, but Miss Esther is very 
much wrought up because her brother and Mr. Leslie 
have not returned.” 

“I will be down in a few moments,” he calls back, 
and, in ten minutes, is with the distressed girl. 

The morning papers, filled with the news of the 
tornado, have arrived, and Esther has read enough 
to thoroughly alarm her. 

“In some of the morgues their bodies may even 
now be lying,” she sobs, “or, under some huge pile of 
bricks and mortar, they may be crushed and mangled 
almost beyond recognition. But I would know them 
anywhere, or any place, or in any condition,” she con- 
tinues, wildly, “only let us hurry,' that this agony of 
suspense may be ended, even in the certainty of 
death.” 


129 


130 


THE FATEFUL HAND. 


In calm, measured tones, Latimer endeavors to 
sooth her. 

“I do not believe they have met death,” he reas- 
sures her. “Your brother, in his mad frenzy, ran in 
the opposite direction to that of the storm. The path 
of the tornado is from southwest to southeast, and he 
went directly south, and Leslie after him in the same 
direction. You see, we have escaped, and this house 
is in a conspicuous position. Neither are the buildings 
to the south of us injured to any extent; hence, I feel 
justified in saying that I have but little fear of finding 
either of our dear ones in the morgue, or under the 
wreckage of buildings. Depend upon it, it is from some 
other cause that they are not here this morning. Still, 
to make assurance doubly sure, we will begin our 
search at the morgue, and continue the rounds of all 
the places where the dead, as fast as they are found, are 
being carried.” 

A hasty breakfast is eaten, and in less than an hour 
they are on their way, the doctor’s fine landau and 
spirited horses being their means of conveyance. 

As the scenes of the storm have been dwelt upon 
before, it is not necessary to repeat the evidences of 
death and destruction that met them on every side. 
Suffice it'to say, they reached first the ruined City Hos- 
pital, and learned that to the knowledge of those in 
charge no such persons as described had up to that 


THE FATEFUL HAND. 


13 1 

early hour been brought there. In turn next, they vis- 
ited the morgues. The scenes of horror there brought 
to the gaze of the shrinking girl and her stalwart com- 
panion almost beggar description. 

Surrounding the grewsome-appearing gray brick 
structure flocked thousands of people. They overran 
the line of policemen, took forcible possession of the 
abutting streets and clamored, pushed and fairly 
fought for an opportunity to view the dead. All was 
confusion, despite the fact that daylight rendered in- 
valuable assistance to the searching parties and those 
caring for the maimed and wounded who had labored 
through the night. All manner of vehicles were pushed 
into service and utilized as improvised ambulances. 
Every few minutes another corpse would be brought 
to be placed in the long rows of the unidentified. In 
front was the partition of glass through which the curi- 
osity seekers and the tear-stained faces of thousands 
of people peered, as the police permitted them a glance 
at the rows of bruised and bloody bodies. In the yard 
was another long row of victims whose identity was 
not established. The storm king was no respecter of 
persons or age. The women and children of even ten- 
der years who were in the. path of the storm were 
laid low, with their clothes muddy and torn, with hair 
disheveled, and crushed, in most instances, almost be- 
yond recognition. 


132 


THE FATEFUL HAND. 


First came a woman with a babe in her arms held 
close to her breast. Marshaled into line by the fa- 
tigued officers, she was jammed and pushed by the 
surging crowd until her face pressed against the glass 
partition. She cast a hurried glance along the line of 
dead and shrieked and fainted on identifying her hus- 
band. Flelped to her feet and resuscitated by those in 
charge, the woman, loudly bewailing her loss, was 
led into a side room, where the relations of the identi- 
fied dead were assembled. The scene was an excep- 
tional one. Strong men and eager women, their cour- 
age screwed to the highest pitch for any emergency, 
gave way to grief in recognizing a relative or friend 
among the dead. 

When morning came, Coroner Waite was enabled 
to arrange the bodies in something resembling present- 
able shape, and as soon as a victim was identified death 
certificates were issued, and the remains were taken in 
charge by undertakers or friends. 

Dwelling upon this tableau for the purpose of 
giving to history some of the scenes at the horrible 
place for the identification of the dead, we insert the 
following clipping from the “St. Louis Republic” : 

The scene at the City Morgue yesterday was one 
that will be indelibly imprinted on the minds of every- 
one who witnessed it. From early morning until late 
in the evening, the mutilated remains of the unfortun- 


THE FATEFUL HAND. 


133 


ate victims of the storm were hurried to the Morgue in 
a continuous procession. 

The marble slabs were dispensed with, owing to 
the lack of space, and on long pine boxes, placed in a 
row, the bodies were placed, facing the observation 
room. Long before noon, the boxes, which covered 
the entire floor space of the Morgue, were all occu- 
pied, and all the bodies received thereafter were con- 
signed to the large ice boxes. It was found neces- 
sary to place several bodies in each box. 

As the afternoon wore on, the visits of the dead 
wagons with their lifeless freight became less frequent. 
At 7 p. m. sixty-nine bodies had been received, most of 
which had been identified. 

The body of Louisa Vignette, an aged widow, was 
brought in about noon from Seventh and Rutger 
streets. She was poorly dressed and bore the general 
appearance of poverty, but in the bosom of her dress 
was found a canvas bag containing $562.65. 

When the people of the city realized the awful 
havoc wrought by the storm, hundreds of grief- 
stricken, horrified men and women made their way to 
the Morgue. When the first body was brought in, 
the crowd outside the Morgue made frantic efforts to 
obtain admission to view the features of the corpse, 
in a tremor of fear lest they should recognize the face 
of some loved one. 

All through the night the crowd steadily increased 
in numbers, and when daylight broke the streets sur- 
rounding the Morgue were filled with a dense crowd 
of horrified and grief-stricken humanity. It was not 
a crowd of morbid curiosity seekers, but was largely 
composed of sorrowing men and women, drawn thither 
to ascertain, if possible, the fate of missing relatives 
and friends. So great was the crowd that Superin- 
tendent Mack and his assistants were totally unable 
to handle it. At first a few were admitted at a time 


134 


THE FATEFUL HAND. 


and given an opportunity to gaze on the features of the 
dead. Those on the outside, however, became impa- 
tient and pounded on the door for admittance. The 
aid of the police was then invoked, and a detail of offi- 
cers was dispatched to the scene. 

They at once drove the crowd back and stretched 
ropes along the outer edge of the sidewalk, opening up 
a passage way in front of the Morgue. The crowd 
was then compelled to form in line and each was given 
an opportunity to pass into the Morgue and look at 
the bodies through the glass partitions. They were 
kept moving in order to give those behind a chance. 
All day long and far into the night the procession 
filed in and out of the charnel house. It is estimated 
that fully 15,000 persons viewed the dead in the 
Morgue yesterday in that manner. 

Hysterical women, leading sobbing children, were 
there in a sorrowful search for their missing protector 
and parent. 

A brother and sister, one about 10 and the other 
7 years old, their eyes red with weeping, timidly ap- 
proached the glass partition and in an awe-struck man- 
ner gazed at the horrible sight within. 

They were looking for both their parents, who, 
they said, had been buried beneath the ruins of their 
home in the southern part of the city. Not finding 
the objects of their search among the row of crushed 
and bruised bodies, they turned away with a shudder 
and passed out into the crowd, hand in hand, weeping 
as though their little hearts would break. 

Now and then the recognition of some body by a 
relative or friend would bring about a most heart- 
rending scene. One poor woman, on beholding the 
mutilated form of her son among the dead, filled the 
air with her piercing screams of anguish, and, throw- 
ing herself face downward upon the floor, gave vent 
to a wild paroxysm of grief. She was tenderly raised 


THE FATEFUL HAND. 


135 


by several sympathetic bystanders and led from the 
room in a hysterical condition. 

As fast as relatives or friends identified the dead 
and requested that the bodies be given into the care 
of an undertaker, burial certificates were issued by the 
corps of attending physicians and orders for the re- 
moval of the bodies were given by Coroner Waite to 
the undertakers designated. This work was pushed 
forward with all possible haste, in order that additional 
room might be made for other bodies that were con- 
stantly arriving. 

Coroner Waite and his deputies were at their posts 
throughout the entire day holding inquests as rapidly 
as possible and lending their aid wherever it was most 
needed. 

No person was allowed inside the Morgue office 
or behind the glass partition excepting those whose 
duties called them there. 

Owing to the great number of bodies brought in, 
no attempt was made to remove from the victims 
traces of the horrible manner in which they met their 
death. Battered, blood-stained, and with their faces 
and clothing covered with dust and dirt, they were 
placed on view in the same condition as when taken 
from the ruins. 

As the night advanced the crowd thinned out to a 
great extent, but still enough remained to require the 
presence of the police. 

Upon some such scenes our friends gaze in horror, 
and it is with relief that they leave first one then 
another of these charnel houses, knowing that their 
dear ones are not among the number so far brought in. 

They go out into the light of day. 

The spectacle that met their gaze on every side 


i 3 6 THE FATEFUL HAND. 

is amazing, astounding, incomprehensible. It pos- 
sesses a strange fascination to these two who are seek- 
ing their loved ones. 

“We will walk among the ruins; perhaps we may 
find them/’ suggests Esther, and so they wind their 
way among the thousands of sight-seers who are filling 
the streets, and pressing in every direction. 

From the lips of men they fearn that East St. Louis 
has been nearly swept off the face of the earth, that 
every livery stable in the little city has been turned 
into a morgue. 

Strange stories of wonderful escapes, sad recitals 
of awful deaths, meet them on every hand. Eye wit- 
nesses of the terrible storm tell of their experiences 
from different points. 

They pass bodies of men engaged in removing the 
debris from places without number, men searching 
for the dead. 

They gaze on scenes intensely pathetic. In the 
grief of others they even forget for a time their own 
sorrow and anxiety. Now and then they see a body 
removed from the wreckage and wrapped in the first 
blanket, sheet or covering that comes to hand. Frag- 
ments of conversations reach their ears, but one theme 
is upon the lips of all. 

Men whose wives were snatched from them by the 


THE FATEFUL HAND. 


137 


storm and women widowed by the hurricane silently 
clasp hands and say: “Yes, I got the body,” and part. 

The people are benumbed, living in a waking 
dream. The full conception of the horror has not 
been able to penetrate through physical sensibilities 
which were partially paralyzed by the awful sudden- 
ness of the catastrophe. Occasionally a hysterical 
woman breaks into a wild laugh when a dead body is 
pulled out of the wreckage. Or a man stops on the 
sidewalk, presses his hand over his eyes and cries out 
in his anguish. Some one leads the hysterical woman 
aside and the man is left alone to battle with his grief. 

One woman, red-eyed and pale of face, stands on the 
curbstone; another woman, with hair disheveled and 
fingers bleeding from digging bare-handed into mor- 
tar and brick, passes her. 

“Who have you lost?” says one to the other. 

“My own Will, my own husband.” 

“Have you found his body?” 

“Yes, yes, we have that, thank God.” 

“Yes, you may thank God; I canhot, I cannot, for 
there are twenty feet of brides over my Bob.” 

They wander along, each block being a repetition 
of the scenes of the preceding one ; then with a sob in 
her throat, the girl turns to her companion and says : 

“Take me home, I can stand, this no longer.” 

He silently bows, and leads her to the place where 


138 


THE FATEFUL HAND. 


they have left the carriage (for they have been obliged 
to pursue on foot their search), and are soon being 
driven homeward. 

And all the way the girl leans back upon the soft 
cushions, silent, oppressed, little dreaming of the joy 
that awaits her. 








CHAPTER XIV. 

THE STORM ON THE RIVER. 

Those who read of the work of the storm found 
from the first reports extra horror in the account of 
what had been done on and along the shores of the 
great river that separates St. Louis from East St. 
Louis, but after-developments gave proof that the 
first reports of the loss of life and injury to limb sus- 
tained were greatly exaggerated in the excitement of 
the moment. After a careful canvass of the situation, 
river men generally were inclined to the opinion that 
the loss of life would be found to be comparatively 
smaller on the river than in any other section visited 
by the storm. The officers of the various steamboat 
companies had made careful inquiry into the mat- 
ter, so far as the- means at their command allowed, and 
claimed to have nearly all of their employes and pas- 
sengers accounted for. 

Although, at the time the storm attained its full 
sippi offered a full sweep for the destructive powers of 
the tornado, it is a most remarkable thing that but 


140 


THE FATEFUL HAND. 


an infinitesimal loss of life was reported from this por- 
tion of the storm-ravaged district, and only a few cases 
in which any injury was sustained by those whose oc- 
cupation demands their presence on the river front. 
While the damage to the shipping in the harbor was 
something tremendous, it is regarded by river men as 
something almost miraculous that the loss of life and 
limb was so inconsequential, especially in view of the 
accompanying destruction to property along the 
wharf. 

Although, at the time the storm attained its full 
height, the air was laden with ponderous beams, iron 
rods, girders, planks and wreckage of every conceiv- 
able description, blown from the four quarters of the 
compass, and river craft of every class were crashing 
with destructive force against each other and grind- 
ing themselves into fragments, but few lives were 
claimed by the elements. 

All day long — the day following the storm — the 
wharf was packed, from early morning until darkness 
closed in upon the scene, with a crowd of curious 
sightseers from the Merchant’s bridge south to Les- 
perance street, viewing the terrible havoc created by 
the tornado. The crowd was especially dense between 
the bridge and Chouteau avenue, where a good view of 
the damage that had been done to the shipping was 
obtainable. The solitary ferryboat that was running 


THE FATEFUL HAND. 


141 

from the foot of Chouteau avenue did a tremendous 
business, carrying passengers over to East St. Louis 
to view the results of the wind’s work in that unfortun- 
ate town. From the wharf a comprehensive idea of 
the damage done in East St. Louis could be obtained. 
The dismantled wrecks of the freight depots, elevators 
and other large buildings on the Illinois side, and the 
yawning gap in the Eads bridge, were silent and forc- 
ible reminders of the awful visitation of Providence. 
The foot path of the Eads bridge was crowded with 
a wondering mass of awe-stricken humanity. 

Among the boats which were a total loss are the 
City of Cairo, Arkansas City of the Anchor Line, the 
City of Vicksburg, J. J. Odil, Libbie Conger, Dolphin 
No. 2, which lay bottom up in the middle of the river; 
Bald Eagle, City of Quincy, Pittsburg, Belle of Cal- 
houn, Harvester, Charles Merriam and George A. 
M'adill. 

The steam launch Austria, which was moored at 
the foot of Carr street, was torn from her fastenings, 
lifted into the air and turned bottom up twenty feet 
from the shore. 

The harbor boat, with its captain and five men 
aboard, was blown down the stream from Morgan 
street to a point below Lemp’s Brewery. In drifting 
under the Eads Bridge her smokestacks went by the 
board with a crash, tearing out the front portion of the 


142 


THE FATEFUL HAND. 


upper deck. Her upper deck aft was blown out on 
the trip down. 

The Anchor Line steamer, City of Monroe, which 
was loading at the foot of Pine street, was blown 
across the river and went aground on the rocks on the 
Illinois shore, minus her stacks, derricks, booms and a 
portion of her upper works. Had the storm held off 
a half hour longer she would have been cleared for 
New Orleans and escaped the storm. Fortunately no 
one aboard of her was injured. 

The City of Cairo and the Arkansas City, which 
were lying just above the City of Monroe, were also 
blown out into the stream. They floated down to a 
point below the cotton compress plant near Carondelet, 
and escaped injury, although the watchman on the Ar- 
kansas City was blown into the river opposite Market 
street. How he ever reached the shore in safety he is 
unable to say. 

The City of Quincy, which turned bottom up in 
the river at Carondelet, was anchored at the foot of 
Franklin avenue when the blow struck her. On her 
way down she passed close to the harbor boat, and the 
watchman who was aboard of her clambered onto the 
harbor boat just before the Quincy capsized. 

The City of Providence had a most providential 
escape from total -demolition, and the dozen people 
aboard had a close call. The Providence and the City 


THE FATEFUL HAND. 


143 


of Vicksburg were lying together when the tornado 
struck them. The wind blew through the cabin of 
the Vicksburg, which was closer to the shore, and 
caught the Providence, tearing her loose from her an- 
chorage, blowing her out into the stream. The wind 
demolished the upper decks of the boat and ripped 
out the entire floor of the lower deck, scattering it into 
the river. After being blown to midstream the wind 
shifted and drove her back to the wharf, where she 
pounded a big hole in the Vicksburg’s side, and tore 
out 100 feet of li£r own hull. Then the wind changed 
and blew both the Providence and Vicksburg across 
the river, the two boats pounding and grinding each 
other on the trip. The Vicksburg caught for a while 
on the Illinois side, and then was driven down below 
Carondelet, where she was demolished. The Provi- 
dence was driven with great violence into the Illinois 
shore eight times on the trip down, causing great 
damage, and finally landed below the River des Peres 
on the other side. The Vicksburg is a total loss, but 
the Providence is not so badly damaged. 

; There was a scene of panic aboard the Diamond 
Jo steamer Pittsburg, which was lying just below the 
bridge, when the tornado struck her. There were 
eleven ladies aboard her, and when the wind began to 
create havoc aboard the steamer the terror was some- 
thing awful. In their wild excitement the women at- 


144 


THE FATEFUL HAND. 


tempted to leap overboard, and the captain, James P. 
Boland, and the crew had all they could do to pre- 
vent their carrying out their mad intentions. Sud- 
denly the wharfboat let go its anchorage, and began 
moving out into the stream with the Pittsburg, which 
was moored to it. Then an indescribable panic seized 
the passengers, and the captain, forseeing the danger, 
yelled out for someone to cut the hawsers. This was 
a task fraught with the greatest danger to life and 
limb, as the air was dense with flying missiles, but 
Morris Killeen, the son of the superintendent of the 
Diamond Jo line, pluckily seized an ax, and, at the 
greatest personal risk, succeeded in severing the haws- 
ers. The steamer parted company with the wharf- 
boat, and was blown over to the Illinois side, but for- 
tunately none of those aboard were injured. 

The following is a list of some of the most terrific 
tornadoes, cyclones, hurricanes, and storms of the 
world in modern times: 

Calcutta, November I, 1867. — Cyclone; 90,000 per- 
sons were drowned. The crops in Lower Bengal were 
destroyed; 75,000 persons died of cholera. 

Calcutta, October 5, 1864. — Cyclone, followed by 
a bore or spring tide in the Ilooghley; 60,000 persons 
perished. 

England, November 26 and 27, 1703. — ‘The Great 
Storm.” The loss sustained in London alone was 


THE FATEFUL HAND. 


145 


$10,000,000. The number of persons drowned in the 
floods of the Severn and the Thames were 8,000. 
Twelve men of war with more than 1,800 men on 
board went down within sight of their own shore. 
Trees were torn up by the roots, 17,000 of them in 
Kent alone; 15,000 sheep were drowned in one level. 

Orissa Coast, September 22, 1885. — Cyclone; 5,000 
perished. 

Mednapore, October, 1874. — Cyclone; 2,000 per- 
ished. 

Mauritius, July 14, 1892. — Great destruction of 
shipping and crops; 1,230 killed. 

St. Thomas Island (West Indies), October 29, 1867. 
— Cyclone. Two vessels wrecked; 50 driven ashore; 

1.000 perished. 

Havannah, October 25, 1768. — Four thousand and 
forty-eight houses destroyed and 1,000 inhabitants 
killed. 

New York, Boston and Philadelphia, March 1 to 
13, 1888. — Blizzard; 400 persons perish. 

Ohio Valley, March 27, 1890. — Tornadoes from 
Cincinnati to Cairo; 93 persons perish at Louisville. 
Illinois, Missouri and Indiana also suffered. The total 
loss of life was about 175. 

Minnesota, July 13, 1890. — Tornado; 100 drowned 
and 100 killed. 

Johnstown, Pa., July 26, 1889. — Storm and flood ; 

6.000 killed. 


10 


CHAPTER XV. 


THE WRECK OF THE ISLAND CITY. 

The St. Louis “Globe-Democrat” contained the fol- 
lowing graphic account: 

The tornado that wrought such havoc in St. Louis 
jumped the Mississippi and wrecked the western half 
of East St. Louis. Probably ioo people were killed 
and three times that number injured. A million dol- 
lars will not cover the damage done to property. The 
damage was done in a few minutes’ time, and how any 
person in the path of the cyclone escaped is a mystery 
to all who passed over the devastated section. The 
wind struck the levee just north of the East St. Louis 
elevator, about 5:30. The wharf of the Wiggins Fer- 
ry was the first to suffer, and it was thrown far up on 
the levee. 

Pat Kelley, the ex-Supervisor, was standing in his 
doorway, and, seeing the curious funnel-shaped cloud 
bounding toward him, he called to his family, who 
were in the next room. They hastily answered him, 
and barely reached the front when the house was 
struck. Not a vestige of it remains. Kelley’s family 
were all separated, but none were badly hurt. 

The cyclone then demolished every house on the 
levee to the bridge, turned over the Louisville and 
Nashville and Chicago and Alton train on the bridge, 
and tore away its upper roadway, as well as the east 
abutment. 

After this partial jump it seems the wind again 


146 


/J 


«> 







































\ 




























































- 


















1 

























































V — * 




















THE FATEFUL HAND. 


147 


turned, tearing up the Vandalia freight house, killing 
all inside. Huschle’s butcher shop, the Douglas 
School, Stock’s house, Sullivan’s on the dike and all 
buildings south of old Crook’s street, as far down as 
the Kothler Mills, and east to the slough, were leveled. 
The four square blocks were absolutely swept away, 
and many of the inmates of these houses are beneath 
the ruins. 

None of the railway yards escaped, from the Cairo 
Short Line up to the Wabash, and hundreds of cars 
stand in all shapes far away from their proper places. 
Two engines in the Vandalia yards were thrown down 
an embankment and destroyed. 

After the wind and rain had done its work, fire 
added to the destruction. Hetzel’s mill was the first 
to become ignited, and it was totally destroyed at a loss 
of $150,000. Harris’ barrel factory, nearly fifty 
loaded cars in the Terminal yards, Lynch’s boarding 
house, Beard’s feed store, Lee’s blacksmith shop, and 
other smaller places were burned. 

The destruction of the water works early in the 
storm cut off the water supply, and Chief Purdy and 
his men fought the fire with a bucket brigade as best 
they could. The whole central portion of the city was 
threatened by the burning mill, but all hands worked 
with such a will that its further spread was prevented. 

The fire caused great consternation. Hundreds of 
people hurried to the scene, believing that it meant the 
complete destruction of the desdlated district. 

The passengers and trainmen of the two trains on 
the bridge were taken to private places in East St. 
Louis. There was not a single' fatality or injury re- 
ported here. These two trains were passing along at 
a rapid rate when they were struck. 

The whole top abutment of the first pier, as well 
as the big rocks and iron girders of the approach, were 
picked up and thrown upon the roadbed just behind 


1 48 


THE FATEFUL HAND. 


the train. In front, two baggage cars were picked up 
and placed across the tracks. The top or upper road- 
way was torn down and thrown upon the train, as well 
as four wagons loaded with merchandise. 

A sudden stop was made, and although the cars 
careened, the passengers escaped through the wreck- 
age and were taken care of. 

All the way down the approach, every pole, 
signal wire and apron was torn away, and in many 
places piled on the tracks. 

The hydraulic switch works shared the fate of all, 
and the pipes were scattered here and there along the 
approach and Broadway. The escape of the trains 
was remarkable. 

Eye-witnesses on the Island, besides Mr. Kelley, 
graphically describe the approach of the destructive 
storm. Two of these men passed through the big cy- 
clone of March 8, 1871, just twenty-five years ago, and 
they say the appearance of the clouds, the sky, etc., 
was similar to that of the former big wind. It struck 
the shore at exactly the same spot and passed up to 
town in the same way, never deviating more than fifty 
feet in either direction from start to finish. The cloud 
resembled an inverted funnel, and appeared to have the 
well-known and generally recognized rotary motion. 
When nearing the shore it seemingly divided and 
spread out, covering about 200 yards of a swath. 

None of the boats from the St. Louis side had been 
struck by the cloud, but a few moments afterward they 
received the full force of the storm. One was driven 
from the water and carried bodily to the East Side and 
dashed to pieces on the pier of the bridge. 

Several were driven into the stream and sunk, but 
this was the only one carried across the river. The 
houses were seemingly all struck at once. The wave 
was not like that in the river, which strikes the nearest 
object first, but was more like the grasp of some great 


THE FATEFUL HAND. 


149 


vacuum which swallowed up the whole scene in a 
second. 

The bridge was struck afterward, and the work of 
destruction was so sudden that no one could form 
any idea of the scene. Bowlders were carried far up 
into the air and then dropped down on the rock ballast 
with such force as to smash the granite blocks into 
pieces. For a time the air was filled with flying mis- 
siles, but darkness obscured. much of the view. 

The scene from the east end of the Eads bridge 
resembles that of a battle-field. The dead and dying 
are being removed from the ruins by willing workers, 
and the burning mills and warehouses light their fu- 
neral pyres with a distinctness that adds horror to the 
awful scene. Lists of the dead were examined care- 
fully to find some trace of relatives. At temporary 
police headquarters a special detail of policemen has 
been appointed to keep the anxious inquirers out of 
the station. The officers stand about appalled by the 
devastation of the storm, and are unable to contribute 
anything to the record of the dead and injured. Hun- 
dreds of persons, however, tell of the storm king’s fury. 

According to the majority of descriptions, the 
storm came from the south. All afternoon big, black, 
portentous clouds had been noticed in the northwest. 
Terrified by reading descriptions of the cyclones that 
have been happening in near-by states, more than one 
predicted the awful calamity of yesterday. About 5 
o’clock the sky became as black as the smoke from 
some huge chimney. The wind began to rise, and 
steadily gained in velocity. People began to seek the 
protection of their homes. A few scattering raindrops 
fell, hurled with the force of bullets against the win- 
dow panes. Then every one realized that this storm 
was a repetition of the one at Sherman, Tex., at Cairo, 
111., and at various other places. 

It was about 5:10 o’clock when the storm showed 


150 


THE FATEFUL HAND. 


its strength. The center of the tornado seemed to be 
between St. Clair avenue and the viaduct. Many 
dwelling houses in other parts of the city were demol- 
ished, but in this district there were few buildings that 
escaped. A law case was being tried by Judge Foulke 
in the Court House. The jury had heard most of the 
testimony, and, according to the usual custom, were not 
supposed to be allowed to depart except in the custody 
of a bailiff. When the storm clouds began to gather, 
the foreman of the jury implored the Judge to dis- 
charge them. The Court House at that time was 
being shaken by the wind. Every moment its destruc- 
tion was threatened. Judge Foulke at length decided 
to let the jurymen go. Five minutes after they de- 
parted for their homes that portion of the Court 
House in which they had been sitting was torn away. 

Timbers and bricks were piled on each other, and 
it is highly probable that had it not been for the fore- 
thought of Judge Foulke every juryman would have 
been killed. Judge Foulke himself succeded in mak- 
ing his way to the Relay Depot, where he. was struck 
by a timber that was being blown through the air and 
killed instantly. In the confusion that prevailed his 
body was allowed to lie on the platform for several 
minutes. People were too intent on ascertaining the 
fate of their own loved ones to stop to identify one 
dead body, although it might be that of one renowned 
in legal circles and who had spent most of his life 
sitting in judgment on his fellows. 

At the hotels a panic prevailed. Women ran from 
one room to another, and along the corridors, scream- 
ing and seeking protection. Men who had faced al- 
most every peril were powerless to comfort them. 
One glance from the window told them that the storm 
was one of greater force than any which they had ever 
witnessed. Whole roofs of houses were flying through 
the air. Trees were uprooted, and every movable ob- 


THE FATEFUL HAND. 


i5i 

ject was, endowed with the power of locomotion by the 
hurricane. Those who possessed sufficient courage 
to look from their windows saw a mass of opaque air, 
which seemed to be whirling around in a circle and 
possessed of no definite object except to destroy as 
much property and take away as many lives as pos- 
sible. When the sharp clap of thunder, immediately 
preceding the fiercest part of the storm, reverberated 
throughout the city, there were many who thought 
it was the crack of doom. They sought refuge in 
prayer and by hiding themselves in their closets. Still 
the wind blew. Every gust seemed to gain encour- 
agement from the one which preceeded it. It was no 
respecter of persons. Roofs of modest dwellings and 
those of factories and apparently solid structures were 
blown away. It lasted perhaps fifteen minutes, but 
time is merely a measure of events and so many things 
happened in that short interval that there were many 
terror-stricken persons who believed the storm lasted 
for hours. 

When the clouds rolled away and a clearer atmos- 
phere enabled persons to see some distance from their 
homes the city bore an altered appearance. Many 
dwelling houses were splintered into kindling wood. 
Men and women ran hither and thither, calling aloud 
for surgeons and nurses to help them care for their 
dead and wounded. Mothers implored help to find 
their children. Husbands carried the mangled bodies 
of their wives out into the streets, # where the cool rain 
seemed a balm that would mitigate their suffering. 
Comparative calm came as suddenly as the storm. 
The wind ceased to blow and for a time comparative 
cheerfulness prevailed. When, however, the awful de- 
struction of the storm was realized a gloom spread 
over the town like a pall. 

It was converted in those short twenty minutes into 
a city where lamentations and prayers for mercy were 


152 


THE FATEFUL HAND. 


offered, even after the source of danger had gone. The 
work of rescue began as soon as the inhabitants, stupe- 
fied by terror, realized they might be of service to 
others. The rooming houses and hotels, being in a 
down town district, were visited by the rescuers first. 
Nothing but the sight of mangled bodies and groans 
from those who were pinned down by timbers could 
enforce upon those who had escaped a comprehension 
of the terrible destructiveness of the storm. 

Residents of the stricken city gathered in little 
knots on the street. They did not mind the drenching 
rain. Nothing except the wind, which left death in its 
path, possessed any terrors for them. They saw that 
the entire east approach to the Eads bridge had been 
carried away by the wind, as if it had been so much 
tissue paper. On every side ruins were to be seen. 
For a time chaos reigned. No one knew exactly what 
to do. 

The Court House and police headquarters had 
been blown away. Officers knew not where to find 
their chief, and while vaguely conscious that they 
ought to do something, were at a loss how to proceed. 
In the course of time, however, temporary police head- 
quarters were established. Drays and wagons were 
impressed into service as ambulances, and the work 
of rescuing the dying and removing the dead began. 
Several persons were found whose bodies had been 
transfixed by the sharp end of huge timbers. Others 
lay moaning and groaning under the weight of a ton of 
timbers. Every courier that arrived at police head- 
quarters had fresh tidings of calamity, until those who 
received the reports became inured to tales of terror, 
and received them as quietly as though they had been 
commonplace annals of every-day happenings. With 
the storm came a darkness that added to the terror. 

Residents of St. Louis, fearful for ^ the safety of 
friends and relatives and of property besieged the 


THE FATEFUL HAND. 


153 


watchman who had been stationed at the bridge with 
requests to be allowed to cross. The passageway was 
filled with debris from the bridge overhead. The 
watchman had instructions to allow no one to pass. 
Two trains which had been blown over by the storm 
blocked the way of pedestrians. Tfie burning build- 
ings in East St. Louis cast a lurid glare over the rapid- 
ly rushing waters and the ruins of the town pictured 
in silhouette led many to believe the conflagration had 
destroyed the entire city. Those who did get over 
saw only a scene of wholesale destruction of life and 
property. East St. Louis and its ruins are one huge 
mausoleum, covering no one knows how many dead. 

But events unknown to the reporters for newspa- 
pers transpired that night in East St. Louis — events 
which have a bearing upon our story, and which we 
will take another chapter to relate. 


CHAPTER XVI. 


/ 


THE FLIGHT THROUGH THE NIGHT. 

The ominous clouds are spreading over the face 
of the heavens, shutting out the light with their green- 
ish black density, forming a background for the whirl- 
ing forces of the winds, as Edward Leslie, thought- 
less of personal danger, springs down the steps lead- 
ing from the piazza of Hugo Latimer’s residence, in 
pursuit of Basil Manton. Through the volume of 
dust that fills the air, he catches glimpses of the fleeing 
form. The frenzied young man is in the middle of the 
street, hatless, with arms outstretched as if to seize 
some object ever beyond his reach, and speeding along 
at a rate one would deem impossible, owing to his 
former weakened condition; but the strength of mania 
is upon him and nerves him on in his mad flight. It 
seems almost like venturing into the very jaws of death 
to dare into the street. The elements are in a state of 
indescribable fury; the appearance of the sky and the 
sounds rising above the storm speaking in unmistak- 
able tones, telling in a certain language of the wreck 


154 


THE FATEFUL HAND. 


J55 


and destruction so near, are enough to appall the stout- 
est heart; but Edward Leslie fears not, he does not 
think of death. Something whispers to his inner con- 
sciousness that all will be well with him; it is for fear 
of the other his heart is filled — her brother — and he 
puts forth the efforts of a trained athlete to overtake 
him. 

Basil is headed in a southerly direction, and this 
circumstance is all that saves his life ; for, although the 
storm is appallingly near — sufficiently so to raise 
the tremendous clouds of dust that nearly strangle the 
pursuer — yet not of that power that brings ruin to the 
magnificent residences and beautiful homes but a short 
distance away. A feeling of wonder creeps above the 
anxiety in the mind of Edward, as blocks are covered 
with an almost superhuman speed, and still, the dis- 
tance between them seems undiminished. 

The young civil engineer is a well-trained runner. 
At college he has taken many prizes for his ability, 
often hotly contested, and yet, this sickly, weak youth, 
but a block in advance, apparently keeps his distance 
and shows no sign of abating his speed. From whence 
comes this wondrous strength? Surely a power of ex- 
ceeding force urges him on, but he must soon yield to 
weakness. He will not be able to keep it up long, and 
then the reaction will be disastrous, possibly serious 
results will be the consequence. Suddenly Basil turns 


THE FATEFUL HAND. 


156 

the corner of a street and proceeds eastward in the di- 
rection of the river. Ah, at last he begins to show 
the effect of his exertions. It is noticeable as he turns 
Leslie observes with satisfaction that he has gained 
upon him. Soon he will overtake him. Compressing 
his lips with grim determination, he increases his speed 
The corner is reached. Basil is but a half block away! 

A hack stands before a house about the middle of 
the block, and as Edward turns the corner a man 
leaves the house, and with a quick glance at the sky, 
takes a step toward the vehicle. Basil is before him. 

There is a shrill cry, as of a wounded animal, then 
the fleeing youth springs at the throat of the stranger. 

What can this mean? Leslie half pauses in his 
astonishment, but only for a second, then he leaps 
forward to the spot, where the two are fiercely strug- 
gling. 

A minute more and he will be there. He is so 
close that he hears the words gasped from between the 
lips of Basil Manton: “Father! Mother!” are the 
words he hears, then the stranger — a powerful, well- 
built man — exerts a strength almost superhuman, and 
fairly lifts his antagonist from the pavement and liter- 
ally carries him to the carriage. The door is open, he 
forces his captive (for such Basil is) in through the 
open door, and quickly follows. A word to the driver. 
The whip falls upon the backs of the horses, and the 










■ - 

. 





















































i 






























































•' . 




















THE FATEFUL HAND. 


157 


hack rolls away, just as Leslie, panting, breathless, 
reaches the spot ! 

The clouds break in a deluge of rain. The thunder 
cracks and rends the dense, close atmosphere, and in 
the playing lightning the pursuer sees the object of 
his pursuit being whirled into the distance. This un- 
expected event has occurred in much less time than it 
has taken to relate it, and leaves our herb spellbound 
for the moment; but other events follow so quickly 
that he soon recovers himself. On the corner below 
him is a drug store, and into its hospitable shelter 
many luckless ones are hastening from the rain; 
among others, a bicyclist, supporting his wheel. In- 
spiration leads to immediate action on the part of our 
friend. He speeds toward the store. 

It is crowded. White-faced women are telling in 
trembling tones of the disaster they have either wit- 
nessed or participated in. Men are relating the hor- 
rors they have seen, or the evil they conjecture. The 
owner of the bicycle stands near the door. 

“I will give you one hundred dollars for the use of 
your wheel,” are the words that greet his astonished 
ears. He turns and sees a gasping, anxious-faced 
man at his side. 

^ “Here is the money and here is my card ; call in a 
day or so at this address and get your wheel. Quick! 
It is a matter of life or death.” 


158 


THE FATEFUL HAND. 


He takes the money and the card in a mechanical 
manner. A young man, he is bewildered by the sud- 
denness of the request, or rather, the demand. He 
does not think of asking for further explanation. He 
holds in his hand the full value of the wheel; he re- 
leases his hold upon the handle bar of the machine 
and the next moment Edward Leslie is pedaling at a 
dangerous fate of speed through the torrent of water 
that is turning the streets into rivers. 

The carriage is not yet out of sight, but is several 
blocks distant, and will soon be lost to view in the 
gathering darkness of night and storm. The almost 
incessant lightning reveals it as Leslie springs into the 
saddle, determined on pursuit that will not end until 
Basil Manton is under his protection. He feels as- 
sured that the driver of the hack will give the scene of 
the tornado as wide a berth as possible. He has felt 
impressed with this idea when entering the drug store, 
and is persuaded that this street, being free from debris 
and wreck, will be continued on by the driver, so far 
as he can go, and the impression has not played him 
false, for the hack proceeds in a direct line toward the 
river. 

Bicycling is no easy matter through rain and run- 
ning water, and soon the darkness increases so that it 
is decidedly dangerous, but the rider makes the best 
speed he can under the circumstances, and finds with 


THE FATEFUL HAND. 


359 


satisfaction that he is gaining on the carriage. He has 
but little hope of doing anything until the end of the 
journey (wherever that may be) is reached. His de- 
sire is to overtake the vehicle, and then follow it to 
its destination. It will be passing strange if he does 
not succeed in getting Basil under his protection when 
opportunity is given him. 

Broadway is reached, and the driver turns his 
horses’ heads northward. This Edward sees in the 
flashes of the lightning, and three minutes later he is 
following. A few blocks and then the work of the tor- 
nado is seen in wrecked buildings, overturned street 
cars, and the awful incidentals of darkness and wreck. 
The driver is obliged to proceed slowly. This car- 
riage is the only one to be seen and the follower on 
the rubber-tired steed in all probability the only bi- 
cyclist abroad in all the great city. 

He is close behind the carriage and wheels along 
with the utmost caution. It is almost impossible to 
make his way through the debris that fairly fill the 
street. At times he is obliged to dismount and lead 
the wheel. Once he draws near to the carriage, sorely 
tempted to make an attempt to enter it. The task 
would not be difficult, the progress is so slow, but he 
abandons the idea. It will be best to wait until the 
occupants have left it and the driver is out of the way. 

Immediate action being unfeasible, his mind be- 


i6o 


THE FATEFUL HAND. 


comes filled with other thoughts. He begins trying 
to solve the mystery which confronts him. Who is 
this stranger, who, seen and evidently recognized by 
Basil, has excited such fury on his part? Why has the 
young man sprung at his throat, and why has this 
comer at such an inopportune time bundled the crazed 
young man into the carriage, and thus forcibly taken 
possession of him? Where can he be going? How 
will it all end? 

For the life of him Edward Leslie can give no satis- 
factory explanation to the queries of his importunate 
brain. It is all beyond his comprehension. 

Then his mind turns in thought to the girl he loves. 
For the first time he remembers she has fainted at the 
sight of the approaching storm, and he has left her 
without a thought. He reproaches himself bitterly 
for the thoughtlessness of his action, but a moment’s 
consideration offers extenuating circumstances. 
Anxiety for the safety of the brother she loves can be 
offered as a good and sufficient reason for his action. 
She is safe in the hands of his friend, he need not wor- 
ry, the morning will find him safe with her, and with 
him, Basil, and (he hopes), Basil recovered and in his 
right mind. She may be distressed upon recovering 
from her faint and finding them absent, but Hugo will 
set her mind and heart at ease. All will be well in 
the morning. 


THE FATEFUL HAND. 


ifti 

So intent is he upon his thoughts that the surround- 
ings, such as can be seen at all, are lost to him. He 
comes to himself by noting that the carriage has 
gained upon him (for he has been walking), and is a 
block in advance. 

Accelerating his speed, he makes up the distance, 
and then, finding he can ride with safety and satisfac- 
tion, remounts. The carriage turns at the next cor- 
ner, still to the east. The entrance to the Eads bridge 
is before him, and soon he is wheeling over the drive- 
way of the massive structure, following the hack of 
mystery in the glare of the burning city of East St. 
Louis, which makes the surroundings almost as light 
as day. 

Suddenly three men spring out into the roadway. 
He notes that they are policemen. “You cannot pass,” 
he hears one of them say. 

He hears the swish of a whip, and knows the driver 
is determined to proceed, even again the peremptory 
order of the guardians of the public peace — and he 
succeeds and so does Leslie, for, wheeling close behind 
the hack he passes the astonished officers like a shad- 
ow, and is soon upon the opposite side of the bridge, 
noting as he passes the damage done to the fine struct- 
ure by the storm. 

The carriage skirts the conflagration, wending its 
way with care, and sometimes with difficulty, through 


u 


1 62 THE FATEFUL HAND. 

the crowds, of fear-stricken people, homeless wanderers 
in the streets, bereft in many cases of all they possess, 
and often of all they hold dear. 

The scene is well calculated to touch a tender heart 
and leave impressions not soon to be forgotten; but 
Edward, kind, gentle and sympathetic as he is, keeps 
his mind fixed upon one object, the hack before him; 
the surrounding scenes are but the incidentals to a 
horrible dream. 

The outskirts of the city are reached, and the driver 
draws rein before a small frame house, which stands 
quite alone. 

In the glare of the distant conflagration our hero 
observes that the building is of one story, of that class 
termed a cottage; that it is rough in appearance, being 
unpainted, and is not far from the way of one of the 
several railroads entering the city. 

He finds a place of hiding behind a pile of railroad 
ties, and sees the driver alight from his box, and at the 
same moment the door of the hack is flung open. 

“Git a move on you,” come the words of the driver 
to his ears. “I want to git out of this es soon as I 
kin.” 

He fails to catch the reply of the occupant of the 
carriage, but in a short time sees the two men carry 
an unconscious form between them toward the house. 
It is the form of Basil Manton. 


THE FATEFUL HAND. 


163 


“Is he dead?” comes the dread thought surging 
through the brain of the watcher, and in his anxiety 
he is sorely tempted to emerge from his place of con- 
cealment and joining the others, learn the truth, but 
he checks the impulse and refrains from an action 
which would surely be foolhardy, and accomplish but 
little, if anything, to his satisfaction. 

The men reach the house; the door is opened and 
they enter, leaving the door ajar. Quick as a flash 
Leslie crosses the street and follows them. The light 
from the burning city is sufficient to show him a door 
opening, from the hall in which he finds himself, into 
an apartment upon the right. The two men, with 
their burden, have proceeded to the rear of the house. 
It is a perilous experiment, but he determines to 
chance the risk. So, guiding his wheel, he turns the 
knob of the door with a quick, noiseless movement, 
and enters the room, which in the faint light, he notes 
with satisfaction is unoccupied and unfurnished; a 
bare, carpetless apartment, facing the street, and being 
shutterless and without inside blinds, lit up by the con- 
flagration. 

He closes the door, but cannot lock it, there being 
no key. Then he awaits developments. 

Voices reach him. They proceed from the room 
immediately in the rear of the one which he has en- 
tered. 


164 


THE FATEFUL HAND. 


“Here is your money. I have added twenty to the 
original price,” are the words he hears. 

“It’s worth it, guv’nor,” is the reply of the driver, 
and heavy steps along the hall, then a door closing, to- 
gether with the sharp click of a key suddenly turned, 
are the sounds that proclaim to the ears of Edward 
Leslie that he is alone with the occupants of this house, 
whoever they may be. Then the door of the room in 
which he has found a hiding place is suddenly thrown 
open, and a man-enters with a lamp. 

It is the man who has summarily and boldly ab- 
ducted Basil Manton. 


CHAPTER XVII. 


A DESPERATE CHASE. 

“Hello! Who are you, and what are you doing 
here?” are the demands of the man, as he pauses in sur- 
prise, holding the lamp above his head, and with the 
words upon his lips, he draws a revolver from his hip 
pocket and holds it ready for use. 

Although caught in a trap, and realizing the peril 
of his position, our hero does not hesitate. He deems 
it best to appear at ease, He is not sure this fellow is 
a desperate character, the face he gazes upon is not 
a vicious one. He determines to reply in such a way 
as to disarm the other of all suspicion, if possible, in or- 
der to further his ends. 

“My name is Leslie,” he replies, slowly, “and I 
am a detective. I witnessed the attack made upon 
you in St. Louis by a young fellow, whom you have 
brought to this place, and my curiosity being aroused, 
I determined to shadow you and see how it would 
all end. You may as well put up your gun. You 
won’t have to use it.” 


165 


i66 


THE FATEFUL HAND. 


A faint smile plays beneath the heavy moustache 
that hides, in part, the mouth of the other. 

“Think not?” he queries, shaking the shining weap- 
on, “and why not?” 

“Because my desire is not to do you harm, simply 
to learn why you brought the young fellow here, and 
how he happens to be unconscious. If there has been 
foul play I shall look into it. If not, and your ex- 
planation is satisfactory, I shall simply relieve you 
of the responsibility of caring for him, and adopt 
measures toward that end. I will take him with me.” 

“You’re a cool one, at any rate,” says the other. 
“Here I find you in my house, and you demand ex- 
planations from me. I am in the position to do you 
harm, and yet you kindly state that you do not propose 
to do me harm. You propose to ask questions, with 
an assurance that would lead me to believe you ex- 
pect me to answer them, and if my answers are not 
to your satisfaction then you will ‘look into it.’ Truly, 
you are a good one; you are an interesting study. 
Suppose I refuse to explain anything, and reject your 
considerate offer to relieve me of what you are pleased 
to term ‘a responsibility,’ what then?” 

“Then I shall take it for granted that there is foul 
play, under all I have seen, and take you in charge.” 

“Dear me! Will you now?” there is a sneer in 
the words. “I fancy I might object to that, my faith- 


THE FATEFUL HAND. 


167 


ful friend, handling - the revolver suggestively, 
might say a few words as well. He speaks five times, 
and his messages are weighty arguments.” 

Leslie flushes angrily, but checks a rising impulse 
to attack this fellow in spite of his weapon. 

“One shot from your pistol would call my com- 
panions to my assistance,” he says, controlling his 
voice, “and, although you might kill me (which would 
be an unwise action on your part), you could not 
escape. The house is under surveillance.” 

“Oh, that’s the way of it, is it?” returns the other. 
“Pardon me if I tell you I don’t believe a word of it, 
but really, there’s no use of all this palaver, anyhow. 
You look like a pretty good sort of a fellow, so I don’t 
mind setting your mind at ease, and letting you go. 
Like a great many other fellows in your line of busi- 
ness, you’re meddling in something that don’t concern 
you. The young fellow who tried to strangle me, as 
you saw, and who I thought it best to get out of harm’s 
way, is my brother, and is of unsound mind. In plain 
words, he’s crazy, and should not be at large. Surely, 
I have the right to take him under my protection?” 
Like an inspiration it comes to Leslie that the man has 
spoken the truth in part. The man before him is 
Morgan Manton, and it is probable that Basil, recog- 
nizing him, has in a frenzy of rage, not at all strange, 
ma'de the fierce attack he has witnessed; more than 


1 68 THE FATEFUL HAND. 

this, the action of Morgan (if this be him) was a 
natural one. He would hardly leave Basil to wander 
the streets in such a condition, hence has brought him 
to this place, where he makes his home. Yes, he is 
persuaded he has heard the truth, at least in part. At 
this moment, the story told him by Esther comes to his 
mind; Morgan has in the past determined to place 
Basil in an institution of some kind, where he will be 
under his surveillance, although ostensibly to receive 
treatment for his affliction. It is possible that this idea 
is still in the mind of the half brother; that discovering 
that the afflicted one is still in the land of the living, 
contrary to the reports that have gone out concerning 
his death, lie has brought him here, intending to con- 
summate his original intention at a favorable oppor- 
tunity. 

Then he recalls the fact that Morgan has been 
charged with the murder of his father and the theft of 
the money from the desk, and Leslie, reviewing these 
facts, with a rapidity greater than we can relate, and 
occupying much less time than it has taken us to re- 
cord it, resolves to act discreetly, believing that this ap- 
parent frankness on the part of the other is simply a 
means to disarm suspicion on the part of the supposed 
detective, and to get rid of him. He will meet him 
upon his own grounds, and so replies: 

“If this is true, as you have told me, there is no 


THE FATEFUL HAND. 


169 


reason why I should demand more, but as you have 
frankly said that you did not believe certain of my 
statements, would it be considered presumptuous on 
my part if I were to demand proof of you concerning 
yours ?” 

“Well, as you are not acquainted with either of 
us, you are asking for something that is difficult to pro- 
vide,” is the reply. “It occurs to me, you are taking 
more than ordinary interest in this matter, and if you 
can be satisfied that my brother is unharmed, and is 
not the victim of ‘foul play,’ as you have been pleased 
to put it, I think it is all you should ask. This much 
I can prove, more than this I cannot promise. One 
word more, however, you saw the attack, it was un- 
called for, and unexpected by me, he sprang upon me 
with the ferocity of a young tiger, and when you con- 
sider all that I have told you, in connection with this, 
I think it ought to be enough to satisfy even the sus- 
picious mind of a detective.” 

“I accept your statement,” is Leslie’s quick reply. 
“Show me the boy unharmed and I will leave you.” 

“Good! Follow me,” then, as if with a sudden 
thought, “you take the lead.” 

Leslie smiles, in which the other joins, and pocket- 
ing his revolver, stands aside for the pseudo detective 
to pass him. 


170 


THE FATEFUL HAND. 


"‘He is in the room at the end of the hall,” directs 
the man, and Leslie follows his instructions. 

He throws open the door. Morgan (as Leslie be- 
lieves), following close at his heels. 

They enter and before they can close the door, 
stand, startled, by the sight that meets their eyes. 
Kneeling in the center of the apartment is Basil, his 
hands clasped, his eyes fixed upon the floor. His lips 
are moving, and from them they catch the word, 
‘‘Father.” 

“He lost his mind at the time of a cyclone in which 
our common father met his death,” whispers Morgan, 
for it is he beyond doubt, but before he can say more 
the young man springs to his feet with a wild cry, and 
stares for a moment straight into the faces of the two. 
Then, lifting his hand, he points directly to Morgan, 
and says, earnestly: 

“Morgan, you killed him, I saw you do it, from 
behind the sofa yonder, I saw you choke the life out 
of him as I lay hiding, fearful of the storm, you killed 
him, Morgan. You killed him!” 

His voice rises in a shriek, with the movement of 
a panther, stooping low, then springing forward, he 
leaps full upon the man, who stands half cowering, 
holding the lamp in a trembling hand. 

“I will kill you!” Edward Leslie hears the words 
hissed, and the next moment there is a crash, as the 


THE FATEFUL HAND. 


i7r 

lamp falls to the floor, then a blaze as the carpet be- 
comes ignited ftom the burning oil, and rolling upon 
the floor, in a fierce struggle are the two. 

He springs forward and endeavors to separate 
them. He lays his strong hand upon the shoulder of 
Basil, who is uppermost. The youth turns and sees* 
his face. 

“Who are you?” he screams. “Go ’way and let me 
kill him. Go ’way.” 

“Basil, remember Esther,” cries Leslie. 

It is a sudden thought, productive of a startling 
result. The youth starts to his feet, and brushes back 
his hair from his forehead. 

“Esther,” he screams, “she will die too. I must 
save her,” then, before Leslie can stop him, he leaps 
across the room; a window looks out upon a vacant 
lot — a spring, the sound of breaking glass, and Basil 
Manton has left the house. Morgan lies apparently 
unconscious upon the floor; the flames are licking up 
the carpet; the house will soon be in flames. 

“Come! Arouse! Save yourself!” cries Leslie, 
bending over him, and shaking him violently. 

A sigh, and the man sits up and looks about him, 
Waiting to see no more, Edward hurries into the front 
room and secures the wheel, then rushes out into the 
night in pursuit of the crazed Basil. 

The flames of the burning city are lighting up the 


172 


THE FATEFUL HAND. 


surroundings with a brilliancy of horrible import. Bells 
are ringing, and locomotive whistles sounding in a 
din almost deafening. On the track near by, an en- 
gine with a dozen cars of valuable freight is puffing 
its way to a place of safety. But where is Basil? 

Ah, there he goes, across the lot toward the rail- 
road track, and in hot haste Edward follows him. The 
train obstructs the way. The fleeing one will be 
obliged to halt; but no, he pauses not, but reaching 
the track, swings himself up between two cars, and 
is swiftly borne along, with the ever increasing speed 
of the locomotive. 

Leaping into the saddle of the wheel Leslie strives 
to reach the track before the train has passed, de- 
termined to clamber upon the moving train, but he 
arrives too late; the last car rolls by as he reaches the 
track. He is almost in despair. For the first time 
his heart almost fails him; what can be done? 

Along the side of the track a road stretches away 
in the distance. A muddy road of uninviting aspect, 
but it shows the only way possible of following the 
train that bears Basil Manton. Drenched with the 
rain, weary, distressed, Edward Leslie mounts again 
the bicycle from which he has sprung upon reaching 
the roadbed of the railway, and with a prayer to 
heaven for strength, presses the pedals and starts upon 
what he believes an almost hopeless pursuit. 


THE FATEFUL HAND. 


173 


Through mud and water he pursues his way; for- 
tunately the rain has ceased, but the night in the dis- 
tance before him is intensely dark. The reflection 
from the fire raging behind him lights up his way for 
the present, but how will it be when this light fades 
away in the distance? 

There is no lantern upon the bicycle, the road is a 
bad one. 

A sudden hope comes to his heart, it may be pos- 
sible to reach the locomotive, and take advantage of 
the headlight which lights the way before. Or, if he 
can succeed, in attracting the attention of the engineer 
or fireman he may induce them to stop the train, and 
thus end this pursuit. Filled with this resolve, he leans 
forward and brings into play all of his great strength. 
He is an expert rider, and the cycle is of a well-known 
standard make; he feels assured it will bear him safely 
and surely. The wheels revolve swiftly, he looks 
neither to the right nor left, but with his eyes fixed 
straight ahead, presses down the pedals with an ever 
increasing speed. The road grows better. The clayey 
soil is passed and now he is upon a path evidently 
made up of sand and cinders. It is not so difficult to 
proceed. With a glad, thankful heart he speeds along. 

The roar of the train grows plainer. He overtakes 

it. 

Never man rode faster. Never bicycle wheels re- 


174 


THE FATEFUL HAND. 


volved swifter. A purpose that never flags urges on 
this brave heart; and it is love that furnishes the in- 
centive. 

The train is making good time, and if a down grade 
is reached may, with increased speed, leave him be- 
hind, but why meet trouble before it comes; why an- 
ticipate? The Providence that has watched over Ed- 
ward Leslie so far, he believes, will not fail him now, 
and he presses onward with the courage of faith, realiz- 
ing that he is keeping well up with the train, aye, even 
gaining upon it. 

Laboriously he passes slowly car after car. The 
train is now upon an up grade, and does not make 
such headway. This is to his advantage, as he is on 
a road nearly level. He believes he will succeed in his 
strenuous endeavor; it would not seem in keeping with 
the eternal and unwavering justice of Him who ruleth 
all things well if he should fail. 

He looks up at the sky; it is dark and ominous; he 
looks to the left; fields dark and grim are hidden in 
the blackness; his eyes turn to the train. A man 
crossing the tops of the cars bearing a lantern, when 
opposite him, Leslie shouts, and above the roar of the 
train the man (a brakeman) hears him and pauses. 

He is standing at the end of a car; the light from 
his lantern shines down between them, and in this light 
Leslie beholds a form crouching close to the car, 





































































THE FATEFUL HAND. 


175 


standing upon the narrow beam, clinging with both 
hands to the iron ladder by which the top is reached. 
The face is turned toward him; it is the white face of 
Basil. 

Again Leslie shouts, endeavoring to direct the 
brakeman to Basil. Either his gesture is seen, or the 
brakeman makes the discovery, for the next moment 
he begins the descent of the ladder, evidently to reach 
the youth who occupies this precarious position. 

And Basil sees him, for with a cry of fear he loosens 
his hold, and leaps forward, and comes rolling down 
the slight embankment, almost at the feet of Leslie, 
and lies perfectly still. 

The pursuit is over, but will it be a living being or 
a lifeless corpse that Edward Leslie will take with him 
to the sister, who, in the storm-riven city of St. Louis, 
is even now thinking of the absent ones? 


CHAPTER XVIII. 


MOTHER ! A MESSAGE FROM THE DEAD, 

Homeward Dr. Latimer’s elegant equipage makes 
its way, but a stop is made before home is reached, 
and it is before the institution for the insane, where 
the preceding night the doctor has found the trembling 
fear-stricken woman, whom he has conducted to his 
residence. 

He considers it best that he should inform the offi- 
cials of the institution (which for many reasons shall 
be nameless) of the circumstance, and this he does, 
and, judging from the expression in his eyes as he 
re-enters the carriage, has learned something of ex- 
ceeding moment during the time spent with them. 

He remains strangely silent during the remainder 
of the drive, and upon entering the house, requests 
Esther to step into the library, and remain there until 
his return, and a glad look is in his honest orbs as he 
ascends the stairs to the floor above. 

Esther, left to herself, saddened by the scenes that 
have come to her eyes this day, oppressed and dis f 


176 


THE FATEFUL HAND. 


*77 


couraged, sinks into a leather-padded chair, and finds 
solace in her tears. 

Bitterly she weeps, and in this condition the doctor 
finds her, upon his entrance. 

“Come! this will never do,” are his words, spoken 
cheerfully admonishing. “The storm is over. The 
rain ceased last night. Do not suffer clouds to hide 
the beauty of the sun. Come, dry your eyes and an- 
swer a few questions which I propose asking you.” 

She essays to obey him, and a faint smile struggles 
to her lips. 

“It is all so sad,” she murmurs, “and both Basil and 
Edward are still absent.” 

“But I have heard from them,” he replies. 

A glad look lights up her beautiful eyes. 

“They are safe?” she interrogates. 

“Of that I cannot say,” he says, slowly. “But not 
hearing directly to the contrary, I am confident all is 
well. ‘No news is good news,’ is an old adage, which 
in this case I am disposed to accept, and from certain 
information which has reached me, I know that Ed- 
ward, at least, has escaped death from the tornado, and 
being in pursuit of Basil, the knowledge of his exist- 
ence assures me he is also alive.” 

And then he tells her that a young man has called 
during their absence who has presented Leslie’s card, 

with the statement that the night before he has hired 

12 


178 


THE FATEFUL HAND. 


the bicycle belonging to the caller, and with such 
words of explanation as would lead him (the young 
man) to believe that a matter of exceeding importance 
led him (Leslie) to the act. 

“So,” concluded Hugo, “we can infer from this that 
Basil was at that time alive, but had found some means 
of conveyance to aid him in his mad flight, necessitat- 
ing the use a bicycle to follow him. Fear not, they 
will both turn up all right!” 

“Heaven grant it.” 

To this Latimer breathes a fervent amen, and then, 
speaking in a tender tone, says: 

“But there is another missing — one who went out 
of your life nearly a year ago. Have you thought of 
that one?” 

The girl sits erect with a gasp. 

“Mother ,- v is the word upon her lips. 

“Yes, your mother.” 

She turns upon him with a quick, impulsive ges- 
ture. 

“Do not keep me in suspense. Do you know 
aught of her. Has she been found?” 

She lays her hand upon his coat sleeve. He takes 
it, and holding it in his own tells her of his adventure 
of the preceding night. 

“Today I called at the asylum, and related this cir- 
cumstance to the physicians in charge. Imagine my 


THE FATEFUL HAND. 


179 


astonishment when they informed me that their only 
missing patient was Margaret Manton, who had been 
placed in their charge last August, by her son, Morgan 
Manton, and whom, they had greatly feared, was lost 
in the storm.” 

He pauses. 

“And she is here — under this roof?” 

He touches a bell, which stands upon the desk be- 
fore him. 

The door opens and Mrs. Easterday enters, half- 
supporting a pale, gentle-faced woman, who looks in 
a bewildered manner about her. 

But only for a moment. The roving eyes become 
riveted upon the face of the girl, who, clasping the 
arms of the chair, half rises at her entrance. 

“Esther! my darling.” 

“Mother! Oh, mother.” 

The sound of swishing skirts as each speeds to the 
outstretched arms of the other, and mother and daugh- 
ter are clasped in a fond embrace. Silently the doctor 
and Mrs. Easterday withdraw to the bow window, 
which faces the street, and find, through the tears that 
fill their eyes, something of uncommon interest in the 
bushes and shrubbery on the lawn. 

The daughter leads the mother to a divan, upon 
which they become seated. 


f 


i8o 


THE FATEFUL HAND. 


“My daughter — and he told me only yesterday that 
you were dead/’ murmurs Mrs. Manton. 

“Who told you, mother?” 

“Morgan. He has never called upon me since 
placing me in that awful place, until yesterday. Then 
he came with the story of your death, an awful death 
in Colorado. In the midst of my grief he informed 
me that father had other property besides the farm, 
and in order to support me it would be necessary to 
dispose of it, and this he could not do without my con- 
sent or the certificate of three eminent physicians as to 
my insanity which was doubted. He told me the doc- 
tors of the institution had pronounced me perfectly 
sane, but, through sorrow, given to hysterical spells 
and melancholy, and had written him to come and 
take me away, which he would do as soon as I signed 
the deeds, giving him control of the property.” 

“Did you sign them?” 

The face of the elder woman grows stern. 

“No. I answered him that I cared nothing for 
home, now that all I loved was taken from me. I told 
him that I feared and loathed him, for did I not see 
him wrench off the lid of the desk and take the money 
placed there by father? Did I not find father cold 
and dead upon the floor? That he had killed him I 
felt sure, and accused him of it when next I saw him,” 


THE FATEFUL HAND. 


181 


She pauses, breathless; she is weak; too weak for this 
undue excitement. The girl soothes her gently. 

“I know all that followed your accusation of Mor- 
gan. You were pronounced insane and brought to St. 
Louis, but tell me, what reply did he make to your 
words?” 

“He shrank like a whipped dog, and denied the 
killing of father, and before leaving me, said he would 
provide me a home whether I liked it or not, and 
would take me from the asylum as soon as he had 
found a place for me. But the storm came and 
brought me a friend, who has restored you to me. But 
where is Basil?” 

The girl had been expecting the question, and 
briefly states all that has happened to them both ; how 
the report of their death got abroad; of the coming 
of Edward Leslie into their lives; concluding with the 
cause of their absence. 

“May God in His goodness bring them back safe,” 
breathes the mother. 

Darkness is closing in around them. Night 
is coming on apace. The doctor, who has over- 
heard most of their conversation, now ap- 
proaches them; at this moment the electric door bell 
gives forth its whirring alarm. Mrs. Easterday hur- 
ries to respond, while the doctor presses a button in 


THE FATEFUL HAND. 


182 

the wall and the room becomes illuminated with the 
soft warmth of the incandescent light. 

“A letter for you, doctor,” announces the house- 
keeper, as she returns. “There is no answer.” 

It is a communication by messenger from the doc- 
tor in charge of the institution of which Mrs. Manton 
has been an inmate. A folded paper is enclosed. The 
words he reads are as follows: 

“My Dear Doctor: The enclosed was delivered 
to me an hour ago by a messenger from East St. 
Louis, who informed me that the writer, Morgan Man- 
ton, died at noon today, from the effects of severe 
burns received at that place. As the communication 
is for Mrs. Manton, and she is now at your house, I 
hasten to send it to you for her. 

“Break the news as gently to her as possible. Per- 
haps it is unnecessary to caution you, as you are aware 
of her condition; I do so, however, so that you will 
be sure to take the proper precautions. With best 
wishes for your success in every undertaking, per- 
mit me, dear sir, to subscribe myself, 

“Fraternally yours, 

“ , M. D. 

“To Hugo Latimer,. M. D.” 

Hugo Latimer feels the eyes of the two women 
upon his face; unconsciously it grows upon them that 
this message is one of importance. He steps 


THE FATEFUL HAND. 


183 


toward them and lays the folded paper in the lap of the 
elder woman. 

Summon all your strength,” he says briefly, 
“y°ur stepson Morgan is dead. Read this.” 

The announcement startles them both, but, al- 
though there is a weight at their hearts, there is no 
evidence of grief. Sorrow, if there is any, is for his 
misdeeds, rather than for any loss to them. 

Esther reads the message to the doctor; then takes 
up the folded paper. 

“This is from Morgan to you, mother. Shall I 
read it?” 

The mother bows her assent; so, unfolding the pa- 
per, Esther reads. 

“I am dying; but before I pass away I write this 
to let you know that Basil is alive, but I fear so bereft 
of reason that he will never be anything but an im- 
becile. 

“When I left you yesterday I began looking about 
for a place for you to live. I found one on a quiet 
street, and was leaving the house when I met Basil 
face to face upon the street. He appeared to recog- 
nize me at once, and sprang upon me and seemed 
bent upon strangling me. I soon overpowered him, 
and forced him into the carriage which had been in my 
service during the greater part of the day. 

“I have been living in East St. Louis for several 


184 THE FATEFUL HAND. 

.•A. 

months, and to my cottage I brought him, intending 
to bring him to you when opportunity presented 
itself, but a circumstance (and from this I am dying) 
prevented the consummation of this intention on my 
part. 

“A detective by the name of Leslie followed us on 
a bicycle from St. Louis. He had witnessed the at- 
tack of Basil and seen me force him into the carriage; 
so he followed to learn the cause and all there was to 
be learned. In order to get rid of him I told him the 
truth, and had taken him to where I had left Basil un- 
conscious, to demonstrate that no harm had come to 
him. 

“We found Basil conscious, and, impressed, as he 
seemed to be, with the fact that I killed father, he 
accused me of this crime and then sprang upon me, 
and so sudden was his attack that he overpowered me, 
causing the lamp which I held to be dashed to the 
floor, where it must have set fire to the carpet. 

“I remember no more. I am told that I was found 
— my clothing blazing, alone in the room. It is certain 
that Basil escaped, and it is probable that the detective 
started in pursuit of him when he left, or took charge 
of him in some way. I cannot say more than this. I 
hope he may be found alive. 

“So much for that; now for myself. I cannot live 
long, even now I am suffering so that I do not desire 


THE FATEFUL HAND. 


185 


to. Before I die I wish to say I did not kill father! 
We had a stormy interview that afternoon of the cy- 
clone in Kansas. I demanded money of him, which he 
refused me, and in the heat of his passion he fell to the 
floor in a fit from which he never recovered. I am led 
to believe from the place where Basil was found, that 
he overheard a part, if not all of our quarrel. I believe 
he was in hiding there, and when father fell to the floor 
saw me bend over him, loosening the neck band of his 
shirt for the purpose of giving him air, and fancied 
I was strangling him, but of this I am innocent, so 
help me God! The storm descended upon us in awful 
fury about this time. The lightning struck the house, 
and rendered Basil unconscious. The last thing he 
saw was me bending over father, and this was stamped 
upon his brain by the force of the lightning. 

“I presume he will ever believe in his crazed mind 
that I killed our father. You must believe differently, 
having these, my dying words before you. 

“There is no need of my saying anything about the 
money. You saw me take it, but you will find part of 

it deposited in the Bank at Chicago; my St. 

Louis account is exhausted. 

“The deeds for the other properties will be found 
at the Bank, St. Louis, and asking your for- 

giveness for all that I have ever done against you, and 
praying that Esther may be found alive and well, and 


iC6 THE FATEFUL HAND. 

Basil may be restored to you, I sign myself for the last 
time 

Morgan Manton.” 

There is a moment’s silence as Esther concludes 
the message from the dead, then the mother says fer- 
vently : 

“God forgive him, as I do.” 

A servant announces dinner. 

They all proceed slowly out of the room. 


CHAPTER XIX. 


THE BEGINNING OF THE END. 

Joy, mixed with sorrow and a weight of anxiety 
impossible to throw aside entirely, finds a place in the 
hearts of all who gather about the well-spread table in 
Hugo Latimer’s dining-room that night. 

Joy, that a mother has been found; sorrow over the 
untimely end of one, who despite his weaknesses has 
been a member of a family now divided by death and 
circumstances; anxiety for the absent ones. But not 
long are they to suffer the pangs of the latter feeling, 
for even as they partake of the food a close carriage is 
swiftly rolling westward from the river, and within it 
are Edward Leslie and Basil Manton. 

They are rising from the table at the Latimer resi- 
dence, when a long peal of the door bell reaches each 
ear, and while Latimer springs eagerly to answer it, 
Esther stands supporting the trembling figure of her 
mother, near to the open door, through which they 
can command a view of the hall. 

They see Latimer fumble with the lock; they see 
the door thrown back. 


187 


1 88 


THE FATEFUL HAND. 


“Home again, old fellow!” they hear a cheery voice 
cry out, and then they behold the tall form of Edward 
Leslie, and he supports with infinite tenderness a slight 
wavering figure which the light from the hall chande- 
lier shows to be that of Basil. They have arrived in 
safety, but oh, what woe begone figures they present! 
The minutes that follow vVitness a scene which we will 
not attempt to describe. There is joy and weeping, 
'embracing and sobbing; kisses rained upon upturned 
faces, and given back with interest; but of all the items 
among the many occasions for thankfulness, the great- 
est is that, during all of this day, Basil has been per- 
fectly rational. 

When order has been restored and the young man, 
under the protecting care of his mother and Mrs. East- 
erday, has gone to his sleeping apartment, Edward 
tells the story to Esther and Hugo. Coming to the 
point where Basil has leaped from the train, he says : 

“I feared he had killed himself, but a quick exam- 
ination proved otherwise. The fall had rendered him 
unconscious, and the stones where he had struck 
and slid along had bruised and scratched him some, 
but he was alive. The train pulled up and took us 
both on board, and let us off at the first station which 
happened to be Belleville, Illinois. 

“Here I found acquaintances, among others, a phy- 
sician, who helped me out wonderfully. 


THE FATEFUL HAND. 


189 


“About daylight this morning Basil came to him- 
self. Literally to himself. The light in his eyes spoke 
positively of a rational mind. 

“He was bewildered and very weak; but when a 
stimulant was administered and I explained matters 
to him, he seemed to grasp the situation with surpris- 
ing quickness. 

“My next move was to wire you of the condition 
of affairs, but I found I could not do so, the wires were 
all down and I could not get a message through, so I 
did the next best thing, I returned to the hotel and set 
about getting Basil in shape to travel, and, to cut a 
long story short, here we are, bruised, but not torn; 
bent, but not broken; and now, what does my little 
girl think of it all?” 

Esther looks up into his eyes. 

“You are my hero,” she says, and her words speak 
volumes. 

Sleep finds a welcome reception that night with 
all, and the morning sun shines in through many win- 
dows upon many happy hearts in the home of Hugo 
Latimer. 

The morning papers are filled with accounts of 
hair-breadth escapes and personal experiences which 
are now coming to be known. 

After breakfast Leslie reads some of them aloud 


THE FATEFUL HAND. 


190 

to the others. Glancing over his shoulder, we will 
give a few of them to history. 

Few, if any persons have ever had a more wonder- 
ful experience than was that of Daniel Kelly, 30 years 
old, a clerk in the Vandalia freight offices. For two 
hours after the tornado he lay underneath a mass of 
debris, with the bodies of three dead friends on top of 
him, and the lifeless form of another within a half inch of 
his face. Suffering from terrible bruises of the left leg 
and right ankle he is now at the Stevens House, where 
he yesterday related the story of his participation in 
the awful incidents of Wednesday evening. 

Kelly was in - the crowd of thirty-five clerks who 
were huddled in one room on the first floor of the 
Vandalia building. 

“After the building collapsed,” relates Kelly, “and 
when it seemed to me that everything was over, I 
found that I was lying face downward on a pile of 
bricks. I couldn’t move a limb. My legs were pinned 
down by soft objects that I soon realized were the 
bodies of some of the clerks. Several girders pinned 
the upper portion of my body down, and when ever I 
attempted to squirm around the bricks undernearth cut 
me like a thousand knives. Murray, one of the clerks, 
lay in front of me, and you couldn’t have passed your 
hand between his body and mv face. 

“The bodies of Frank McCormick and Joe Franks 


THE FATEFUL HAND. 191 

**► 

pinioned my right leg clown and the body of Eddie 
Kavanaugh was lying over my left leg. Of course, 
at the time I didn’t know whose bodies they were. 

“I didn’t know whether the boys were alive or dead 
I tried to call to them, but I couldn’t realize whether 
my voice was a roar or a whisper They made no re- 
sponse. It was dark as pitch. Rain began to fall and 
the water soaked into me and made me think there 
was a flood. 

Looking back, I feel that I must have suffered a 
thousand torturing emotions from the consciousness 
that the bodies of friends were pinning me down, but I 
can only recollect a numbed, indefinite sort of curiosity 
as to what would follow. 

“Finally, when physical pain had commenced to 
occupy most of my attention, the rescuing party start- 
ed to work. I realized their approach and hallooed to 
them. Then I called out to them from time to time 
how to work so as to reach me quickest. First, they 
got Eddie Kavanaugh’s body. Next, they started to 
saw through some timber above me. The teeth of the 
saw caught my leg, and I yelled to them to stop. 

“Then I told them to take the two other bodies 
off my right leg, and they did so. In a few moments 
more they pulled me out.” 

Kelly was shivering with cold when rescued. Miss 
Louise O. Gross, who was in the vicinity ministering 


192 


THE FATEFUL HAND. 


to injured persons, accompanied Kelly to the Stev- 
ens House, a mile distant, forcing him to wear her 
mackintosh to shield him from the rain. Miss Gross 
has since been elected President of the Women’s Re- 
lief Corps. 

Mr, Henning W. Prentiss, Principal of the Hodgen 
School, witnessed appalling scenes at the ruins of the 
Sawyer Manufacturing Co., 1819 Chouteau avenue. 

Mr. Prentiss fled from a cable car and took refuge 
in a store at Eighth street and Chouteau avenue when 
the cyclone came. After it passed he made his way up 
Chouteau avenue. What he saw at the Sawyer Manu- 
facturing Co.’s establishment is best told by himself: 

‘‘When I got there the factory was a shapeless mass 
of bricks and timbers, and on top of it a score of fire- 
men and citizens were falling and stumbling in their 
efforts to do something for the buried inmates. Sev- 
eral men were trying to extricate a poor fellow who 
had the glassy stare of death in his eyes. 

“ ‘Oh, don’t crush me!’ he cried feebly, as the res- 
cuers tugged at him. Several pieces of timber held 
him fast, and I suggested to a fireman that pompier 
hooks be used. This suggestion was acted on and we 
took the man out and carried him to a temporary hos- 
pital and morgue. 

“As we were picking our steps over the mass of 
wreckage I was horrified to see the bodies of three 



































































% 















































































* 






































































THE FATEFUL HAND. 


193 


dead girls lifted from the ruins. Two of them were 
clasped' in each other’s arms and as they lay there in 
deadly embrace, bruised and crushed, I felt my heart 
sink, for I had never beheld so horrible a spectacle.” 

A Compton Heights car had just entered the pri- 
vate way between Papin street and Chouteau avenue, 
just east of the Sawyer Manufacturing Company’s 
building, when the walls fell. Had that car gone a 
hundred feet further its cargo of humanity would have 
been crushed. 

At the Lafayette avenue end of the place is the 
castellated home of Sir Charles Gibson. The windows 
and roof have been so badly wrecked that the beautiful 
abode will be uninhabitable for some time. 

At the head of Waverly place is the home of Leo- 
pold Methudy. It is a large, roomy mansion, but was 
so thoroughly drenched that the family and servants 
spent Wednesday night in the laundry. It was the 
only dry room in the house, as the rain had poured in 
through the broken windows and roof. 

Jerome Hill’s residence, further down the street, 
was so badly jolted and perforated that the family 
sought refuge in a down-town hotel. 

The residences of Mrs. Dr. Learned, the Weinrich 
and the Wells families, also in Waverly place, were 
razed to the ground. The magnificent library of Rev. 
Dr. Learned, the result of years of collecting, was 

13 


194 


THE FATEFUL HAND. 


scattered to the four corners of heaven. The family 
grieved over the loss of the library, and they began 
Thursday picking up such of the books as they could 
find. 

The Weinrich family had a thrilling experience. 
Four of the ladies were caught in the debris, and were 
rescued after heroic work by Rev. Dr. Fauntleroy and 
others. 

Other residences in the vicinity of the park that 
felt the blow very severely were the old home of Louis 
Duestrow on Lafayette avenue, John Endres’ house 
on Park avenue, Anthony Ittner’s house (the old 
Jackson mansion), Drosden’s and the Carr residence. 

One of the incidents of the storm which can not 
be understood was the finding of three live and un- 
harmed children in the ruins of Seventh and Rutger 
streets. 

While a fragment of the roof was being lifted from 
the cellar a child’s voice called out for the rescuers to 
be more gentle in their work. That was the first inti- 
mation that any one was alive under the wreckage. 

When the roof had finally been pushed aside there 
were three children — a boy io years old and two little 
girls, the latter not more than five years of age, and 
all were naked. 

The boy had the little girls huddled into a corner 
with the shreds of some bedclothing which they had 


THE FATEFUL HAND. 


195 


carried down with the ruin. The boy was their pro- 
tector. 

Their mother had been crying about the ruins all 
day, and when they were found, unharmed, except for 
a few scratches, she nearly went wild with joy. 

The boy said they had landed in a soft place, and 
did not mind it much. 

They had been imprisoned there nearly twenty-four 
hours. 

Theodore J. Fritz, salesman for Fritz & Brinkop, 
wholesale cigar dealers, was in East St. Louis just 
before the tornado arrived. He was accompanied by 
William Leindecker, another employe of the concern. 

Observing the gathering clouds, they determined 
to hasten back to St. Louis. They drove over the east 
approach to the Eads bridge at a gallop. At the toll- 
house they were stopped and cautioned against driv- 
ing so rapidly. Rather than proceed slowly while in 
the middle of the bridge, they turned back. 

On Wednesday, two weeks before, Fritz had 
crossed the bridge in a violent wind and had seen 
wagons blown over all around him. 

Going east they had reached a point where the ap- 
proach was about 30 feet above the ground, when the 
tornado struck. 

They were in a one-horse, open, spring wagon. 


196 


THE FATEFUL HAND. 


Before they realized anything, they and the wagon 
were whirling together in the air. 

Half an hour afterward, Fritz recovered conscious- 
ness. Looking up he saw that he was surrounded by 
ruins and that the bridge was several hundred yards 
south of where he lay. Fie called for Leindecker and 
the latter answered from a point a few feet away. The 
two extricated themselves, after some difficulty. They 
were able to walk, and, reaching the ruins of the 
bridge, approached and painfully crawled over the 
twisted timbers to the roadway. 

Both went to the home of Mr. Fritz, 2417 South 
Eighteenth street. There Fritz found that he was 
pretty badly bruised. He has been in bed ever since, 
and Max Fritz, his father, states that it will be a week 
before he can leave it. Leindecker escaped more 
lightly. 

Thursday Mr. Fritz went across the river in search 
of his horse. The animal had been rescued during 
the morning. A man poking about the ruins of the 
bridge approach heard groans that sounded distinctly 
human. Thinking that some one was buried beneath 
the debris the man went to work. In a little while he 
was surprised to discover that the groans came from a 
horse. The animal when taken out proved to be badly 
cut, but was able to move. Mr. Fritz’s messenger 


THE FATEFUL HAND. 


197 


identified the animal and took him home. No trace of 
the wagon was found. 

The rescue of Mary Mock, a domestic at the Mar- 
tell House, yesterday was one of the most thrilling and 
exciting scenes of the day. Not less than 3,000 people 
stood abaut the place, on the bridge, the trestle and 
along the tracks surrounding the spot where the Mar- 
tell House once stood, and when it became noised 
about that a woman who had gone down with the 
building was alive in the debris the feeling was intense. 
The workmen heard groans about 1 p. m., but the 
noise came from a position near the water’s edge, where 
no one believed that it was possible for any human 
being to survive. A floor slanted down from the bank 
to the water, and under this there were piles of tim- 
bers. All were finally cut through, and the ground 
was reached, but the owner of the voice was not found. 
It was apparent, however, that the victim was not far 
away, but the timbers and boards deflected the sound 
to such an extent that none of the men could say exact- 
ly from whence it came. A new point was fixed upon, 
and the men set to work with renewed energy. About 
4 p. m. their labors were crowned with success and 
they came across the almost unrecognizable face of a 
woman. The eyes were closed, the nose was mashed, 
and the whole face presented a most pitiable appear- 
ance. At intervals the woman groaned as if in the 


THE FATEFUL HAND. 


198 

last agonies of death, but when taken into the air she 
revived very rapidly. Along toward evening she be- 
gan to speak coherently, and between sobs and 
screams of pain she partially told the story of her ad- 
venture. 

She and another girl were standing in the s center of 
the dining-room when they saw missiles flying through 
the air on the east side of the building, and hastened 
in the back part of the house. As they stepped into 
the hallway, which was used in common by the guests 
and the people of the house, the crash came. Miss 
Mock saw the west side go down into the creek, the 
house being lifted from the piling, and she thinks the 
eastern part, which was built years after the western 
section, was seemingly piled in on top of the first. 
She was thrown into the water, but crawled up some 
distance, when the sliding timbers pinioned her. She 
was not so badly injured, she thinks, at first, but by 
the rolling of the timbers caused by the waves in Ca- 
hokia Creek she was battered about and almost killed. 
She was in the place almost forty-eight hours, and, 
according to her own words, she existed by the sheer 
will power which she possessed. The clammy hands 
of two persons on each side of her would be placed 
upon her at short intervals. Finally she became pin- 
ioned to a corpse. The dead man or woman, early in 
the night of Thursday, was shoved across her slowly 


THE FATEFUL HAND. 


199 


in some way by the water. The faces were 
in absolute contact, and, as she still had her 
senses, she said the feeling was indescribable. 
It was the most loathsome sensation that she 
ever experienced, and one which she would 
almost sacrifice her life to avoid. This body was not 
found with her and it is believed that it floated off 
down the stream. As the woman was taken from the 
rubbish, apparently a shapeless mass, and placed upon 
the bank, more dead than alive, and not knowing that 
any one was about, as she was unconscious, she 
uttered a sound which resembled a cry for water. 
Two or three men ran to the depot and procured some, 
but she could not or would not drink. A piece of 
ice was forced between her teeth, and in a few minutes, 
to the astonishment of all she regained consciousness. 

Both legs are badly sprained, her right wrist and 
collarbone are broken and her flesh is most terribly 
cut up about the face and breast. 

The doctors believe she will live. 

Miss Mock was considered a very pretty girl by 
those who knew her and she was surely a favorite at 
the hotel, where many persons had noticed her ex- 
treme modesty and obliging disposition. She had 
been at the hotel many years. 

“Well!” exclaims Leslie, laying aside the paper 
with a sigh of relief. “We should be thankful that 


200 


THE FATEFUL HAND. 


such experiences have not been ours. Surely, we 
should be thankful.” 

“I am,” says Esther, with a silent prayer of thanks- 
giving. 

“Suppose you give your experiences to the papers,” 
suggests Hugo, with a sly twinkle in his eyes. 

“I am satisfied with the experiences. I yearn for 
nothing more, neither fame nor notoriety,” is Leslie’s 
response. 


* CHAPTER XX. 

FREAKS OF THE STORM. 

Before concluding our work it may be proper to 
present certain features of the great tornado, not men- 
tioned elsewhere. 

The tornado developed hundreds of incidents so 
unique that the best of them are entitled to a chapter 
to themselves. Since the account of the first of these 
strange storms was written, back in the days of the 
Marshfield and Grinnell disasters, stories of miracu- 
lous, unaccountable escapes, peculiar deaths and fan- 
tastic doings of the elements have formed a large part 
of the history of every storm of this character. 

For example, nothing is more difficult of explana- 
tion than a condition which existed at the wrecked 
home of Dr. Starkloff on Compton avenue. The outer 
walls of the splendid red mansion were torn away, the 
roof was gone, and there were other evidences of the 
ravages of the storm without the building. Yet the 
light pictures on the walls were hanging in place, 
and lamps on tables and stands were not disturbed 
as to position ; neither were they in any way damaged. 


2C1 


202 


THE FATEFUL HAND. 

On one of them the delicate lace shade was not even 
disarranged. 

Jim Murray, employed on the Anchor line wharf- 
boat, was sitting on the wharfboat when the 
tornado descended on the levee. Foreseeing 
the danger,, Murray made a run for the shelter 
of the elevated road. The wind gratified his desire 
to seek this shelter, but not before it had some fun with 
him. Murray was lifted off his feet and blown over 
the “apron” of the boat into the river, landing in a 
drydock, moored close by, used by carpenters to repair 
the hulls of vessels. The next instant the drydock, 
which is a hollow affair, about io feet wide by 15 feet 
long, was blown westward out of the water, tearing off 
a portion of the railing of the “apron.” It was driven 
with great violence against the iron supports of the 
elevated railway, dumping Murray out unceremoni- 
ously upon the ground. The drydock was again taken 
up in a return current of wind and carried out toward 
the river almost to the water’s edge, where it was 
caught by a reverse current, whirled high into the air 
and dashed to pieces against the roadbed of the ele- 
vated, scattering debris all over the wharf. Murray 
was dazed and pretty sorely bruised, but not injured 
otherwise, and he held on with a death grip to the 
terminal elevated support until the storm had spent 
itself. 


THE FATEFUL HAND. 


203 

A paper hanger named Stewart was decorating the 
walls of Ed Morrissey’s saloon, opposite the Four 
Courts. When the front of the restaurant blew in and 
scattered .debris through the house, Stewart fled 
to the cellar. When his two assistants decided to fol- 
low him a few minutes later, they were convulsed with 
laughter at observing him stretched prone upon his 
back in the damp cellar, the water reaching nearly 
above his arms, with two heavy stones across his 
breast, which he had placed there to prevent the wind 
from blowing him away. Despite the gibes of the 
other occupants of the house, Stewart continued to oc- 
cupy his uncomfortable position until assured that all 
danger was past. 

Henry Collins was standing in a saloon in East 
St. Louis with a glass of liquor in his hand. Suddenly 
the roof fell in, and he was turned over twice or thrice 
and landed on his feet with the glass still in his hand 
and half of the liquor still in it. He quaffed the liquor 
with relish, as his collar bone had been broken in the 
crash and he needed the stimulant. 

In Clifton Heights an old lady living in a house 
in the rear of the residence of L. Haller was killed by 
the shock experienced when an uprooted tree was 
dropped through the roof. She was not struck or in- 
jured in any way by falling debris, but her nervous 


204 


THE FATEFUL HAND. 


system had been so shattered by the intensity of the 
storm that the additional strain was too much for her. 

In the worst part of the wreck of the upper Louis- 
ville and Nashville offices a dog lived to bark his de- 
light at being released from the chain which kept the 
wind from blowing him away. 

A stable which stands in the roadway is pinned 
through the corners by wooden beams which were 
forced into both sides by the wind. The ends of the 
beams, extending up and out from the stable, contain 
a pile of lumber carefully arranged, as if placed there 
by hand. 

Perhaps the strangest escape in town was that of 
Saloonkeeper Tojo, whose saloon on Missouri avenue 
was wholly demolished. The walls and roof are as 
flat as a pancake. At the first streak of dawn a small 
force of men were removing the safe and fixtures from 
the wreck. 

Early the morning after the storm a newspaper 
man picked up a dead robin in the center of Lafayette 
park. On one side of the bird all of the feathers were 
intact. On the other side there was no sign that there 
had ever been a feather on the white skin. Even the 
upper part of the leg was entirely denuded. 

In South St. Louis there is a house whose entire 
north wall is torn out save a support under one of the 


THE FATEFUL HAND. 


205 


windows and the window itself. The frame is not 
damaged and not one of the panes of glass is broken. 

On Russell avenue, not far from Compton, one of 
the heavy marble steps that were in front of the main 
door of a residence was picked up and the end driven 
into the ground to a depth of two feet. The step is 
not chipped’ or in any way injured. 

There are two iron posts in front of the Merchants’ 
Exchange building. One of them was wrenched off 
by the storm. Sixty feet away is a wooden post of 
the same size and height of the iron pillar, and it was 
in no way damaged. 

On Grand avenue, not far from Shenandoah, a 
horse was torn from its harness and thrown, upside 
down, in an excavation that is being made for a sewer. 
The other horse in the team was tossed across the 
street. 

A bed with its mattress in place was thrown from 
a house on Missouri avenue to the center of Lafayette 
park. Two pillows fell not far from it, but they were 
not the pillows belonging to this particular bed. 

A child’s chair was taken from one of the lamps at 
the gate leading into Lafayette park on the south side. 
Part of an arc lamp was fastened to it. 

A middle-aged German mechanic was walking 
along the railroad tracks east of Twelfth street just 
after the storm, bemoaning the loss of his little daugh- 


20 6 


THE FATEFUL HAND. 


ter. Another child, who was with him, found a bon- 
net that was recognized as belonging to the missing 
girl. The father thought that it was conclusive evi- 
dence that his other youngster was lost, when the lit- 
tle one ran up and shouted that she wanted to get in 
the house, because it was getting too wet for her. 

Bales of hay ought to be good defense in a cy- 
clone. In many livery stables on the south side 
everything but the great stacks of hay in the lofts was 
blown away. In one case carriages were taken half 
a dozen blocks and set down with little injury. The 
hay was not disturbed. 

A pet cat, owned by a family on top of Compton 
hill, was found in front of the Lafayette Avenue Meth- 
odist church at 9 o’clock yesterday morning. It was 
not injured. 

In a house on Arkansas avenue a glass stopper in 
a whisky decanter was broken off at the top of the 
bottle, but the vessel itself was not broken. 

A young man named Murphy, of South Twenty- 
third street, says that he had two rings on his left 
hand. He lost them, with a good deal of the skin of 
two fingers, while trying to keep his hold on a tele- 
graph pole. The pole was overturned, and Murphy 
narrowly escaped being crushed under it. 

Letters addressed to many prominent people were 


THE FATEFUL HAND. 


207 


found in the trees of Lafayette park. One was the 
property of Mrs.' Charles Nagel. 

.A chicken coop with two live and very much 
frightened chickens was found floating in a new 
formed pool of water in Lafayette park. 

Two young women who were on a Fourth street 
cable car at the time of the storm were entirely de- 
nuded. They left the car stark naked and were cared 
for in a house near by. 

Black mud was found on the walls of many houses 
after the storm. In one residence on Arkansas ave- 
nue the ceiling is decorated with black patches. There 
is no such mud in the neighborhood. Where did 
this come from? 

There was a new spring bonnet on one of the 
spikes of the Lafayette park iron fence the afternoon 
after the storm. The bird on it wasn’t stripped of its 
feathers. 

The irony of fate was never more forcibly illus- 
trated than in the case of a dwelling house located on 
South Broadway, the entire front of which was swept 
away, leaving the interior with furniture exposed to 
the elements. The furniture and bedding were piled 
in a confused mass upon each floor, while upon the 
rear wall of the second story bedroom was the legend, 
“Good Luck.” 

A tall office stool fell from the top of the tower of 


208 


THE FATEFUL HAND. 


the McLean building yesterday afternoon. It had no 
mark indicating whence it had come. 

Ben Selkirk’s house on the north side of Park ave- 
nue is in a state of collapse. With strange vagary the 
wind blew pieces of brick, limbs of trees and pieces of 
slate through the parlor windows in front, knocking 
the chandelier into smithereens and treating hand- 
some vases and mantel ornaments in the same rough 
way. With singular freakishness it missed a charm- 
ing little dollhouse which Mr. Selkirk had made with 
his own hands for his children. This dollhouse stood, 
and stands now, between the two front windows on a 
table. It is as good as new, and not even a drop of 
water got on it to mar its whiteness. 

The effect of the wind on different trees was curi- 
ous. Some it left standing, but stripped them of bark 
and leaves. Others were snapped off like pipestems, 
near the ground, and their foliage was not disturbed, 
while from others nearly all the branches were 
whipped off and the naked trunks left standing. 

Some of the freaks of the wind, as now looked at, 
are amusing. A man was picked up and blown diag- 
onally across the park a distance of 200 feet, and then 
set down so lightly that he was not hurt a bit. When 
he recovered from his dizziness and lack of breath he 
discovered that all the buttons had been ripped off his 
vest, but his hat remained on his head. 


Mawi "" 0 



/ 







THE FATEFUL HAND. 


209 


A strange thing happened to a grocer living on 
Jefferson avenue. When the storm came he rushed 
with his family into the basement and remained there 
until the tornado passed. When he went upstairs 
again and opened the door of one of his sitting-rooms 
he was surprised to see standing there a bed with a 
mattress and one pillow. A hole through the back 
wall showed how it happened. Nobody has called yet 
for the bed. 

Just as the storm was at its wildest Adam Waller, 
a newsboy, was crossing the Eads bridge with his arm 
full of papers. He was about to step on the masonry 
work at the east abutment when the tornado struck it 
and carried part of the bridge away. The next thing 
he knew he was falling into a creek half a mile away. 
He was carried all that distance over the town of East 
St. Louis, which was being ruined. He swam ashore 
and wanted to return to St. Louis to get the extra 
editions of the newspapers, which he declared would 
be printed, but he could not cross the river, and had 
no chance to add to his fortune. 

An amusing incident of the Stock Yards Hotel 
catastrophe was the blowing of a goat through the 
window of a saloon. The animal was quickly on its 
feet, and, leaping to a table, bleated a greeting to the 
astonished bartender. 

Not unlike the shooting of a tallow candle through 

14 


210 


THE FATEFUL HAND. 


a pine board was the complete perforation of a big 
steam boiler by a scantling four inches square at the 
end. It did not strike at right angles to the surface 
of the boiler, but slanting, and the timber passed clear 
through it. The end of the timber was not battered, 
and but slightly splintered. 

In a number of cases tin roofs were lifted in a sin- 
gle piece from buildings and fell upon telegraph lines 
looking not unlike huge carpets hung up for beating. 
The entire roof of the big Merchants’ Exchange 
building was blown off in one piece, 50x120 feet in 
size, and hung on the wires in front of the Planters’ 
Hotel. A great many persons were badly cut by the 
falling of tin roofs. 

The walls of the power-house of the People’s Rail- 
way Company were thrown down on the immense ca- 
ble machinery, completely covering it. Strange to 
say, when the debris were removed the machinery was 
found to have sustained no damage. 

The task of giving relief to the thousands of suffer- 
ers of the storm was a stupendous one, and it was sim- 
ply impossible during the first few days to properly 
supply all the needy. The citizens of St. Louis never 
fail to respond nobly when appeals come to them 
from suffering humanity in any part of the globe, and 
the city did her best to care for her own people when 
calamity was brought home to her. While there was' -a 


THE FATEFUL HAND. 


211 


difference of opinion among the citizens as to the wis- 
dom of the city authorities in declining at the outset 
the generous offers of aid from outside places, it is 
certain that those who escaped the fury of the storm 
nobly came to the rescue and relief of those who 
did not. If mistakes were made in the hours of terror 
and dismay they were of the head rather than of the 
heart. 

Awful as the calamity was, it would have been 
vastly worse had the path of the tornado been half a 
mile further to the north, for there is no doubt that it 
would have wrecked the great buildings in the busi- 
ness heart of the city. Had they been destroyed, all 
the aid that outsiders could have given would not 
have placed St. Louis in as good shape to completely 
restore the damage as she is to-day without help from 
other sources. 


CHAPTER XXI. 


CONCLUSION. 

We have reached the conclusion of our narrative. 
There is little more to relate. St. Louis is rapidly re- 
covering from the effects of the fearful blow struck at 
her very vitals, and in the years to come those who 
gaze upon the structures erected in place of those de- 
stroyed will scarcely remember that disaster has ever 
come upon the beautiful city. 

Time covers the graves of our dear ones with flow- 
ers and only memory holds, and even then but uncer- 
tainly, the scenes of suffering through which they 
passed. It is better so. The present, ofttimes, brings 
sufficient sorrow. 

The reader naturally expects that Esther Manton 
was transformed into Mrs. Leslie, and so it came to 
pass, and that upon the Sunday following the events 
we have recorded. 

The ceremony was a simple one, and took place at 
the residence of Hugo Latimer, being witnessed by 
those who have been the principal actors in our 
drama. “Edward, wilt thou have Esther to thy wed- 


THE FATEFUL HAND. 


213 


ded wife, to live together after God’s ordinance in the 
holy estate of matrimony? Wilt thou love her, com- 
fort her, honor and keep her in sickness and in health, 
and forsaking all others keep thee only unto her so 
long as you both shall live?” were the words ad- 
dressed to Edward, to which he answered from the 
depths of his honest heart: 

“I will.” 

“Esther, wilt thou have Edward to thy wedded 
husband, to live together after God’s ordinance in the 
holy estate of matrimony? Wilt thou obey him, and 
serve him, love, honor and keep him in sickness and 
in health, and forsaking all others keep thee only unto 
him so long as you both shall live?” 

“I will.” And the answer was fervent and full, 
and why not? She loved him, and trusted him. 

Basil took an active part in the quiet celebration 
that followed. 

“He will make a strong, powerful man both phys- 
ically and mentally,” remarked the doctor to Edward 
in confidence. 

“And you are to be thanked for this.” The doc- 
tor shook his head slowly. “I am not quite sure of 
that,” he said deliberately.” Although I have lost no 
faith in the power of the X rays, yet, I believe, the tor- 
nado coming upon us at the time of the experiment did 
more to bring about the results than any thing else. 


214 


THE FATEFUL HAND. 


You see the conditions were the same as when he was 
first stricken, and the electrical forces were sufficient 
for a complete restoration.” 

“You are too modest, entirely — I give you the 
greatest credit.” 

“To God belongs the credit,” is Latimer’s earnest 
reply. “To Him we owe our lives, our escape from 
the Fateful Hand which has wrecked our city, and to 
Him Basil owes to have been ‘Saved by Lightning.’ ” 


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